


Letting Go and Moving Forward

by Bennyhatter



Category: Original Work
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Animalistic Behaviors, Benny can be a little shit, Benny loves his dogs, Dom/sub, Dominance, Friends to Lovers, Gratuitous Violence, I don't know what else to tag, Love at the end of the world, M/M, Scottish Accents, Submission, TW: Panic Attacks, Trust Issues, Zombie Apocalypse, and so do zombies, but he's really a sweetheart, like lots of violence, people die, tattooed character, truse issues everywhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-12 00:36:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5647510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aremis, Sabriel, and Romiel were just expecting to raid a grocery store for supplies and then get the hell out. They got a little more than they'd bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The street is a mess of, well, everything. Looters have been through, and probably others after them. Most of the store’s windows are broken, the glass scattered everywhere and the displays ransacked. Probably most of the shelves, too, in whatever other shops are around.

Overhead, a crow caws, its flitting shadow flickering over the pavement and the totaled cars. In one of the alleyways, a cat slinks after a scavenging rat, its pale eyes luminous in the stretching shadows. Down another one, a pair of mutts get into it over some rotted garbage one of them has nosed through, the two of them fighting over their meager prize while a third snatches up the bounty and runs. As soon as they realize what has happened, the tussle ends and they give chase, snarling and salivating.

Something moves at the edges of the town, creeping forward using the shadows cast by the building for cover. All three dogs stop, tense and alert; the cat vanishes and the rat scurries back to its hole. Even the crow falls silent, landing on a weathered telephone pole and observing the goings on below with its beady black eyes.

The figure moving along the side of the drug store pauses, cocking its head. From somewhere, a bird call sounds. One of the dogs turns its head at the melody, ears pricking, only to look back when the figure answers with a warble of its own, lips pursed after a quick swipe of the tongue to help the notes ring clear and true.

Two more bodies meld out of the haze, one pausing to lift his hand and squint up at the sun. “’S gonna be dark, soon,” he murmurs, dropping his hand to the knapsack sliding off of his shoulder and hitching it back up into place. His long, wavy hair is pulled back into a messy knot to get most of the greasy, unwashed strands out of his face. Clear blue eyes glance around, weary and wary alike, before he looks to the one who had given the ‘all’s clear’. “Sabriel, we need to find shelter for the night.”

“Aye, that would be why we’re here, Aremis,” Sabriel agrees; his words would be sharp and condescending if not for the gentle affection layered into his tone. He looks around, raking a hand roughly through his tawny hair; blue-green eyes intent on anything and everything around them in case they run into anyone who wouldn’t be happy to see them.

The third member of the group rests his hands on his hips, looking around with the same blue-green eyes as Sabriel. His bangs are starting to get in the way, dark brown strands curling slightly from sweat in some places; hanging limp and stringy from grease in others.

“Come on then,” Sabriel murmurs, his voice pitched low to further avoid drawing attention. All three of them jump when the crow heckles at them, startled by the sudden sound, and the dogs scatter at the sudden movement.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Aremis whispers faintly. “Scared the life out of me, he did.”

“Hopefully not,” his brother says playfully, bumping shoulders as he walks past, heading for the parking lot of the grocery store. It looks to be abandoned, for the most part, aside from all of the cars in similar states of disrepair and rust. Huffing, he kicks the tires of a sedan, checking their give. “Might be able to use this’n, if we can siphon gas from some’a the others.”

The three of them cross the parking lot, keeping on the alert just in case. When they reach the automatic doors—dead, no surprises there—Sabriel forces one open wide enough for the three of them to squeeze in and then muscles it closed again while his brothers stand watch uneasily. Once the door is as secure as he can hope to make it without the proper tools, Sabriel motions for Aremis to lead the way and fingers the gun holstered at his side. A gunshot in a building like this will do nothing but make noise, though, so he grabs for the knife on his other side instead. “Stay close, Romiel,” he says, voice pitched to a low rumble. His brother understands him; he nods and pulls out his own knife, checking it quickly before they follow Aremis further into the store.

There’s a body in the canned vegetable aisle. The three of them exchange glances before prowling closer, their footsteps nearly silent as they approach. Aremis grimaces at the woman’s mangled throat, noticing the blow to the head a heartbeat after Sabriel points to it. Satisfied, they step over or around her respectively, and Aremis watches as his youngest brother swings the pack off of his back and begins to peruse what canned goods are left that they can use to make a meal. They’re far enough away from the refrigeration areas that the smell isn’t too bad, but it’s still not nice. Most of the rotted meat stench is concentrated in that section of the store, but the smell has still traveled to blanket everything else. After so long, though, the three of them are used to it, so they can ignore it easier as they hunt for anything they can find.

“Always within sight,” Aremis cautions, even though he knows he doesn’t have to tell his brothers that. They both nod anyway, Sabriel still sifting through the cans while Romiel heads further down the aisle to see what he can find. They all work in absolute silence, gathering supplies. After catching Romiel’s eye, Aremis turns and heads toward the aisles where he hopes to find some first-aid things that have been left behind. Romiel follows after him, alert for anything that could be a danger to them. The faint sound of cans bumping together means that Sabriel has finished his task and is coming, too. Looking heavenward briefly, Aremis sends out a quick prayer to the god he still believes in.

There’s a zombie—and god, what a terrible word that is—hanging out by the medical supplies. It hasn’t spotted them yet, thankfully, too intent on shuffling around and making that mournful moaning noise they all seem to make. Aremis steps forward to deal with it quickly, but Sabriel is already there, his brother silent and deadly as he plunges his knife into the back of the monster’s skull with a sickening sound.

“Good thing it’s just the one,” he mumbles, wiping his blade clean with his pants. Aremis makes a face at the action, but nods and steps gingerly over the corpse to see what they have to work with. Surprisingly, there’s quite a bit for them to take, so he quickly snatches up everything they might possibly need and stuffs it into the bag Romiel hands him, clearing most of the painkillers as well as some gauze, ace bandages, normal band-aides, and anything else that might come in useful down the road.

“Come, it’s time we go.” His brothers nod, faces set and determined, and Aremis leads the way back outside, keeping a watchful eye on every single flicker and shadow he sees. He’s not the only one doing so, which makes him feel better even if it doesn’t lessen the tension running through all three of them. They’ve gotten this far relying on their instincts and each other, and they’re happy to continue doing so.

Sunlight greets them, momentarily blinding the three men. Aremis blinks rapidly to clear his vision. Once he can see, he steps back and allows Sabriel to take point, following him back to the car he’d spotted earlier. It’s unlocked, which is surprising. There are no keys in the ignition, which is not.

“Can you get it running?”

“Aye,” Sabriel decides, looking over everything with an assessing gaze. “I can get it moving, but we should stock up on some gas, just in case. Wouldn’t do to get stranded again like last time.”

“Aye,” Aremis agrees, smiling at the memory. “Wouldn’t want that.”

Romiel is already checking the cars to either side of the sedan, unhooking an empty gallon jug from the rope looped around his waist and digging through his pack for the hose. Picking his target, he sets to the task, leaving Aremis to watch out for any danger while Sabriel hotwires the car. They’ll have to wash the jug out really well before they can try and use it for water again, but for now they’re okay on that front thanks to the last store they’d raided.

The sedan comes to life with a soft roar, and none of the brothers want to stick around to see if they’ve attracted any attention. They all hop in, Sabriel behind the wheel, and Aremis is glad his brother at least waited for them to shut the doors before he’s pulling out quickly and getting them back onto the road.

“We’ll pack up what we’ve got back at base and head out, unless you’d rather try and find a place to hole up for the night. There’s plenty of houses to pick from.”

“I like that idea.” Glancing into the backseat, Aremis checks for Romiel’s nod before he nods as well. “We’ll pack up camp, store what we can in the trunk, and find a house. The last thing I want is to still be out and about after night truly falls.”

“Ain’t gonna argue with that.” Sabriel accelerates with a grin, the scenery speeding by outside the window. Aremis catches sight of the dogs, all three mutts sitting on the steps of a building and watching the car go by with dark, haunting eyes. Overhead, the crow circles, cawing twice before it wings away.

 

 

 

Aremis wakes up to the point of a blade an inch from his left eye. He curbs his instinctual reaction, which is to throw himself upwards, and widens his eyes as he stares past the weapon to the one holding it. A dirt-smeared youth glares back at him, eyes narrowed angrily and chapped lips twisted into a vicious sneer. God above, he can’t be older than eighteen.

“Y’all killed that Muddy in the grocery store,” he hisses. The sudden shift in the air tells Aremis that his brothers have woken up. He hears the rasp of Sabriel drawing his knife and swallows thickly as the one above him drops closer. “You might wanna rethink that plan,” the boy growls without even looking over. He’s American, with an accent Aremis would bet is more Eastern, though it has a strange hint of Southern drawl dotted through it.

“What, you gonna kill ‘im ‘cause we offed yer pet?” Sabriel spits, his natural Scottish brogue deepening with his distress. “The fuck kinda psycho keeps one’a them as a pet, anyway?”

“It wasn’t a pet, you stupid fuck, it was bait.”

“Watch who yer callin’ stup-”

“Not now, Sabriel.” Aremis swallows again as the eyes above him snap back to his face, glittering in the dark. “We needed supplies,” he tries to reason, wondering how the younger man managed to get into the building without waking any of them. They’d boarded up every nook and cranny they could think of after they’d picked this house. How had the boy gotten in?

“The fuck you mean, _bait_?” Dear Sabriel. He loves his brother, but he clearly inherited their Da’s temper, whereas Aremis and Romiel were blessed with their Ma’s patience.

“I meant what I fucking said. Had it there to see if anyone came through, and what they came through for. That shit’s claimed, so I needed to know if someone would steal it.”

“We were under the assumption the store was abandoned,” Aremis whispers, trying his best to soothe the agitated teen perched above him. How he’s maintaining that stance is anyone’s guess. His thighs must be burning by now. “We did not know that it was claimed.”

“Can’t claim shit like that anymore,” Sabriel grumbles. He hears his brother shift, but he doesn’t get stabbed, so he tries to be hopeful. “’S all up for grabs now if yer not there to immediately fight for it. Yer loss, kid.”

“Ain’t a fuckin’ kid.” Anything else their uninvited guest might want to say is suddenly cut off by the scratching of the undead at the door. Their moans sink through the walls, filling the small space quickly as their numbers apparently swell outside. Between one blink and the next, the body above Aremis is gone and he’s quick to sit up, Sabriel and Romiel crowding against him on either side to make sure he’s unharmed. A muted curse turns all of their heads to where the boy is pacing past a boarded-up window.

“Muddies,” he grunts when he sees them looking. He’s still scowling fiercely, and for such a small body, he radiates a lot of aggression. “About a dozen of ‘em, with more probably comin’ once they hear the others.”

“There’s that word again,” Sabriel says, frowning. “Why do you call them that?”

One narrow shoulder jerks up and down in an approximation of a shrug. “’S just what I call them. You ever looked at their veins? They’re brown, like mud. They’re as thick as mud, too. Easy enough to deal with, so long as their whining doesn’t attract a Speeder.”

“Terminology later,” Aremis grunts, silencing Sabriel with a quick look. The three of them stand up together, which is when he realizes just how much smaller the stranger is compared to them. He may be small, but he’s obviously got enough skills to sneak up on the three of them, not to mention surviving for as long as he has. “If we help you clear them, can we figure things out civilly?”

“Have you looked outside lately?” the boy demands. “There is no being civil anymore. There’s just surviving, no matter what the cost.” He chooses not to wait for a response, because before any of them can open their mouths, Aremis watches as he yanks the boards away from the door and throws it open, jamming his blade into the first skull he can reach. Rather than standing by and watching, the brothers surge forward to help.

After so long, it’s easier for him to look past the fact that the woman he’s just stabbed in the head was once a real person, one who had a life and dreams and goals. Now she’s just a reanimated corpse, her sundress dark with coagulated blood and her rotting teeth gnashing as she tries to take a bite out of him. Her blood slicks his blade, dark and shining in the night, and he feels how it streaks across his hand when he yanks his weapon free and it splatters a bit. Gritting his teeth, Aremis turns to the next one.

With the four of them working together, it takes hardly any time before the Muddies, as their guest has called them, are all dead. They wait for a moment, silent and tense, but no more appear, so they retreat back indoors and Romiel begins to board up the entrance again while Aremis grabs onto Sabriel. He knows his brother, knows that look in his eyes. Sure enough, just as he grabs his sibling by the arm, Sabriel tries to lunge at the boy, who bares his teeth and makes a noise that is not unlike a growl.

“What the fuck are ya doin’, Aremis? He tried t’ kill ya!”

“But he didn’t, Sabriel. He helped us. That has to count for something.”

“Not after he had a knife to ya, it doesn’t!”

“Scottish, huh?”

They turn to look at the boy, who is wiping his knife clean on his shirt. Once he’s satisfied, he sticks it back in its sheath and looks at them warily. “Y’all are Scottish,” he says again. “What the fuck are you doing on American soil? Don’t y’all have a family you should be back home with?”

“We’re all the family we’ve got,” Sabriel spits, ripping himself free from Aremis’ hold. He watches his youngest brother closely, but he doesn’t seem like he’s about to attack again. “Couldn’t have gone home even if we’d wanted, what with the airports bein’ some o’ the first places to shut down. ‘Containment’ or whatever they called it. Just a load’a bullshit.”

“At least you have each other then, you fuckin’ prick.”

“What happened to your family?” Aremis chances taking a step forward, his automatic response being to comfort the young man, who is clearly upset. When he reaches out, the teen flinches, so he pulls back and holds up his hands in the universal sign for harmless.

“What the fuck do you think happened to them? They fuckin’ died, and then they came back, and now they’re dead for good.” Glaring off to the side, the boy wipes at his face and only succeeds in smearing coagulated blood across his jaw and cheek. He doesn’t seem to even notice.

“My name is Aremis.” Wary eyes flick to his face, the shadows inside the house too deep to tell what color they are, or anything other than vague features—narrowed eyes, small nose, hard mouth, stubborn jaw. “This is my younger brother Sabriel, and our older brother Romiel. We’re trying to do the same thing you are: survive.”

 

 

 

The boy’s name is Benny, and he’s not actually as young as he looks. He’s twenty-two, which is four years younger than them. He’s also a lot more hardened than he should be, and he hasn’t left the town since he came back from New Orleans to find his family dead and reanimated. They’d tried to kill him, but he’d gotten them first. The complete lack of emotion in his tone, and the way his face had shut down when he’d told them about it, makes Aremis worried that they’re dealing with a serious case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

“You could come with us?” he offers, trying to make the situation better in the only way he knows how. The look of disbelief aimed at him from Benny and Sabriel makes him shrug sheepishly. “Alone, you might not be able to fight off another group like we just did. With us, at least you’ll have someone around to watch your back.”

“Ain’t needed someone to watch my back yet,” the young man huffs, baring his teeth. “Why the hell should I start now?”

“Everyone needs someone,” Sabriel chimes in, surprising Aremis. He shoots a look at his brother, eyebrows raised. “We three have each other, an’ we’re doin’ pretty well so far. You, yer holed up in a grocery store usin’ a reanimated corpse t’ tell when someone’ll be comin’ by. Don’t sound like livin’ t’ me.”

“I don’t give a fuck what it sounds like to you,” Benny growls. He stalks out of the front room, and Aremis hears him rummage around in the kitchen a moment later. Curious, he pads in to see what the man is up to, only to blink when he sees him using a handheld can opener to crank open a few cans of raviolis.

“Are ye that hungry, then?” he asks kindly, trying to ignore the heat of the glare sent his way. “Y’know, we can all go back to th’ store and find more to eat.” Sometimes his accent gets the better of him, even after all his years in the Vatican--and after that, America--giving him some control over how he speaks. He doesn’t need that anymore, though, and the longer he travels in this new world with his brothers, the less he’s beginning to care how deeply his natural brogue gets. Sabriel never cared to begin with, and Romiel…

“Ain’t for me,” is the grunted response he gets, making him look up in surprise. The smell of the ravioli makes his stomach rumble rather loudly, and the glare he’s getting intensifies. “Ain’t for you either, prick.”

“Then who is it for?” Sabriel has come in to investigate, leaving Romiel to guard the door. Benny bares his teeth at them, halfway to feral because he’s been alone for so long. Without another word, he manages to grab all three cans and heads for the door that leads out into the back yard. Aremis follows him, curious, because they’d reinforced this door too, just not as heavily, because the back yard is fenced.

Out the door and down the steps Benny goes, his pointed stare halting the brothers at the top step as they watch him slink out into the tall, swaying grasses. As they watch, surprised, he unearths three gleaming silver bowls from the unruly yard and brings them back to the patio, setting them up and dumping a can into each. Fascinated, Aremis watches as the young man stands back, his features slowly gaining detail in the growing dawn light. Then he hears the light scratching at the fence, and fascination morphs to trepidation and suspicion as he and Sabriel draw their knives simultaneously. Benny ignores them and makes a strange noise, something between a whine and a whistle, and suddenly the scratching turns more frantic and purposeful, a few of the boards shift, and then they pop inwards. A nose appears, black and snuffling the air as it pushes the gap wider, and then one by one the three dogs they’d seen roaming earlier come crawling into the yard.

“Yer wastin’ food on _mutts_?” Sabriel hisses, and the lead dog falters, looking up at them before swinging its gaze to Benny. The man comes forward, herding the three to their bowls, and once they’ve begun to eat voraciously he glares at Sabriel, his eyes blazing.

“What’s it to you if I make sure they eat?” he growls. “Ain’t your food, ‘s mine. Therefore, it’s mine to give them.” While he talks, he moves between the three mutts, petting heads and rubbing ears. Not one of them snaps at him, or at each other, but Aremis can definitely see them eyeing he and his brother, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

“They seem to really like you.” All of the tension and less-than-playful banter aren’t getting them anywhere, so he’s not sure why Sabriel continues to antagonize the boy. In this new world, they all need to try and get along, or else the consequences will be bad. “Are they yours? Why don’t you keep them with you?”

“’Cause they ain’t mine,” Benny mutters, crouching down to press his face into the neck of the big, shaggy shepherd mix who looks to be the wildest. Despite his feral nature, the mangy beast still licks at Benny’s neck and throat, his bushy tail wagging. That makes the man laugh, his teeth flashing when he smiles the first real smile Aremis has seen. It transforms the boy’s whole face, making him look years younger. “They ain’t mine,” he says again, ruffling the mutt’s fur. “I think they belonged to someone, ‘cause they’re all fixed, but they were wild when I found them. They’re good dogs, though.”

“Did ye give ‘em names?” Sabriel asks curiously. Aremis knows that his younger brother likes animals—can see him itching to go and play with the smallest mutt, who looks like a pit bull mix and had very pretty blue eyes.

“Of course I did.”

The pit mix, who is mostly silver-gray with a white chest and white front paws, stops licking his bowl clean and eyes Sabriel, who has begun to edge down the steps. He doesn’t look vicious, just very wary. He’s swung himself around so that he’s standing in front of Benny, blocking them from the younger man with his body, but for now he’s just observing.

“What’re their names?” Aremis asks, unable to help himself. He’s just as curious as his brother, who’s made it to the bottom step. All three dogs have finished their meals, the pit bull mix and the shepherd mix unifying to form a living wall between the brothers and Benny, while the third dog, a Rottweiler, watches from over his shoulder.

“Maverick.” A pat to the shepherd’s head, who pricks his ears up curiously when his name is said. “Raven.” The Rottweiler licks the side of Benny’s face; her mouth open in what looks to be a smile. “And this is Apache.” The pit bull sits heavily, tongue lolling as he pants.

“Nice names. Can I pet any of them?” Sabriel is eyeing Apache the most, it seems, his fingers twitching.

“Wouldn’t recommend it,” Benny snorts, finally standing and dusting off his knees. As if that was the command, the three dogs trot across the yard and slip back through the hole they’ve made in the fence, followed by their human friend so that he can put the boards back in place. “They trust me ‘cause I’ve been feeding them for months, and working on gaining their trust. You’d probably get bitten if you tried to touch any of ‘em.”

Sabriel pouts for a moment, and then shrugs and grins. “So, what, were ye a vet before the world went to hell? ‘S that why yer so good with ‘em?”

“Nah, never had the heart to be a vet.” Benny turns back to look at them, the slowly-rising sun touching off of messy blond hair and turning it the color of fire; turning his eyes to gold. “I was a dog trainer.”

“I was a Catholic priest,” Aremis offers, smiling sheepishly and shrugging at the look Benny shoots him. “I’m not going to try to convert you, don’t worry.”

“He was the good son.” Though the words are light, they still make him sad. He glances at Sabriel, who smiles gently to show he meant no harm. Then his brother turns to Benny and spreads his arms to encompass his own person. “Me, not so much. I was a professional whore.”

Clearly not expecting that, Benny stumbles on his way past them up the stairs, turning to look at Sabriel with wide eyes that roam over his face to see if he’s joking. He’s given a saucy wink, which makes him scowl and shake his head before shoving the door open and disappearing back into the house. Aremis catches his heel disappearing around the frame and blinks, because Benny isn’t wearing shoes. Now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t seen any shoes lying around, or on the boy’s feet, though he’d had more important things to pay attention to at the time.

“I like him,” Sabriel chuckles, bumping his shoulder on his way by. “Let’s keep him.”

“He is not a dog, Sabriel,” Aremis sighs, shaking his head and ducking it to hide his smile. “If he comes with us, he’s got to make that decision on his own.”

“Well then, let’s go ask him.” Shooting a grin over his shoulder, the youngest McGinnis brother winks before sauntering into the house after Benny, leaving Aremis to bring up the rear and fortify the door again.


	2. Chapter 2

Benny hunkers down in the corner and eyes the brothers, who are pressed in close to one another as they eat their meager breakfast and talk softly amongst themselves. Aremis and Sabriel are the only ones actually talking, though he notices that Romiel communicates through a mixed form of tapping and sign language. Most of the hand signals are too fast for him to catch, and he was never very good outside of the rudimentary things he’d taught himself, but he picks up on a few of them. That doesn’t help him figure out the entire conversation, but it doesn’t really matter, anyway.

His stomach gurgles quietly, so he reaches into his pack and snags a can of peaches, getting it open with little issue and using his fingers to shovel the fruit into his mouth. If he was a better hunter, he’d try to snag a rabbit or something, but he never had the heart to kill something that way, so he makes due with what he gets from a can or what he can cobble together with what he manages to find.

Drinking the juice, he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and then freezes, looking up into three pairs of eyes. He’d have to be an idiot not to recognize that the men staring at him are related. They have most of the same facial features and body structure, with probably only twenty pounds of weight difference between them at the most. The only real difference is the color of their hair, and even that isn’t too wildly different between Sabriel and Romiel. Aremis has the red hair most people think of when they think of a Scotsman; it’s long, and wavy, and he bets if the man had a proper shower it would be really curly, too. Sabriel’s is short, even shorter than Benny’s, and tawny, whereas Romiel’s is somewhere in-between length-wise and a few shades darker with lighter highlights.

All three of them are stupidly attractive, even covered in dirt and old blood. And they’re still staring. “What?” he snaps defensively, hunching his shoulders. Is there something on his face?

“Would ye be interested in comin’ with us?” Sabriel asks, giving him what he probably imagines is a winning smile. To Benny, he just looks like a tool.

“Why would I want to do that?” Looking down at his empty can, he rolls it between his hands and frowns. “Why the hell are you guys even out roaming? Seems stupid, to me.”

“Well, it seems stupid to _me_ to just hang around in one place with a pack of half-wild dogs waitin’ fer someone t' come along an' stab me in my sleep,” Sabriel retorts. His words are friendly enough, but layered over sharp intent, and they hit their mark in reminding Benny that he’d had a knife to Aremis when the man had woken up. He flinches, refusing to look at the redhead, because he already knows he will see understanding and compassion in the blue eyes he can feel like a physical touch.

“Ain’t got anything to look for,” Benny mumbles. “There’s nothing left anywhere, I’d imagine.”

“There’s got to be something,” Aremis presses, soft and gentle. “There _has_ to be. There’s no way there’s nothin’ left out there. A safe zone, a refugee center, _something_. We’d be glad to have you along with us, if you wanted to come. This is no way to live.”

“Yeah, well ‘s the only way I got!” Benny shouts, surging to his feet and for once refusing to care about how much noise he’s making. The brothers startle, eyes wide, and Aremis is already moving to soothe him, trying to quiet his sudden surge of emotions, but Benny backs away and looks around wildly. He can’t breathe, his chest tight and heaving, his lungs empty, and before he can try to ground and center himself the panic takes him, turns him all-but feral just like the dogs as he starts tearing at the boards on the door. Distantly, he can hear himself making these horrible little wounded noises, punched-out whines and frantic whimpers that just drain his already-depleted air supply. When a hand touches his shoulder gently, he whirls around and slams back against the door so hard his head cracks off the wood, turning his vision white and spotted. He bites his lip, tastes rich, warm blood, and whines pitifully again as he feels bodies pressing in.

_Too close, too close, gotta get away gotta run get away get gone fuck get gone DON’T TOUCH ME_

He thinks he screams the last part, because the bodies back away as quickly as they crowded in, and he doesn’t think, can’t think, just bolts past them, barely able to hear them calling for him as he runs for the door to the back yard and rips the boards down there before he’s out of the house and tumbling down the four steps onto the small patio, too frantic to pay attention. A shock of pain sizzles in his knees and palms, in his ankle, but he doesn’t stop, just runs for the weakness in the fence where he lets the dogs in. He can hear them, their baying and whining the clearest noises besides his own frantic breathing, his own little keening moans.

Ripping at the fence with bleeding nails, he forces a hole into it that’s big enough for him to squeeze through, squirming his way out into the little lane between his fence and the neighboring one and into the wriggling mass of his dogs. They lick his face and whine, trying their best to comfort him as the four of them run out into the street, catching the attention of a few Muddies who have been stumbling around and zero in on them like bloodhounds. Benny trembles, sobbing, as Raven and Apache and Maverick rip them apart before they crowd around him again and lead him away. Everything is blurry to him, the houses along the desolate main road all blending together from his tears, but he knows he’s safe with the dogs. He lucked out, all three of them incredibly in-tune to his emotions just like the service dogs he used to find and train, and they offer him the comfort and support he desperately needs to work through the attack, herding him into their den. He remembers this building layout, remembers all of the meals he used to share with his family at those tables, at that front breakfast bar. He’s been in the kitchen a few times, raiding for supplies, but now he’s there for another reason, curling up on the filthy blankets his pups have led him to and wrapping his arms around his head as he tries to remember how breathing works.

It's been years since he’s had a panic attack, back in a time where his life was in shambles emotionally, but he remembers the tools he used to use back then with varying degrees of success. With Apache curled up at his back and Raven and Maverick in front of him, Benny opens his eyes and wipes at them, trying to clear his vision. Calling up the memory of his neighbor showing him, he lifts a shaking finger and begins to sketch numbers in the air, watching himself and softly murmuring each number as he draws it. He used to stop at ten, but not this time. This time, he keeps counting, feeling his fear-tense muscles slowly beginning to unwind, his screaming mind quiet, and his lungs loosen enough to draw new air.

_One hundred. One hundred one. One hundred two. One hundred three._

Raven growls softly, lifting her massive head and looking toward the door.

_One hundred six. One hundred seven. One hundred eight. One hundred nine._

One of Apache’s heavy paws drops onto his side, the pit bull’s rumbling growl joining in while Maverick rolls to his paws and paces.

_One hundred thirteen. One hundred fourteen._

“It’s okay, guys,” he rasps, his voice coming out roughly from a throat that feels like it’s been scoured with sandpaper. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” The dogs settle, wary but obedient, and Benny looks up with heavy, tired eyes as Romiel steps into the building.

The silent man looks around, curiosity shining in his blue-green eyes as he takes in the remains of the restaurant—heavy tables overturned to fortify some places, glass windows cracked and broken, the decomposed remains of meals never finished. All of it at a glance, accompanied by a quiet inhale, and then he turns and crouches down several feet away, arms resting on his knees and hands dangling, relaxed, as he tilts his head and smiles.

 _Hello_ , he signs, taking care to mouth the word as well as signing slowly, and Benny shakily copies him, still feeling wrung-out, the last wisps of panic slowly leaching away to be dissipated on the winds of calmness and encroaching peace. He wants to lay his head down and sleep, but knows it won’t be safe.

_How are you?_

“Feel like shit,” Benny croaks, trying for a wry smile and failing spectacularly. Romiel nods though, understanding on his face that doesn’t tip into patronizing or pitying. It’s frank, honest understanding, like he knows exactly how it feels. “Your brothers okay?” he asks, too bleak and exhausted now to put up a front. “’M sorry if I brought trouble to you guys. Had to just… had to just go.”

Romiel nods, mouths ‘I understand’ slowly, his fingers sign-tapping it out. Benny watches them, curious. One thing that never left him after the world went to shit was his voracious desire for knowledge, to learn new things, and Romiel must see that, or sense it, because he repeats the sequence again slower, smiling and nodding when Benny tries to copy him. Fingers that are used to some singing pick it up quickly and it makes him smile, makes him feel like he’s done something good. Apache huffs happily, Raven lays down again, and Maverick slinks up to the taller, older man, head and tail low in submission, yawning nervously. When the man holds out his hand, the shepherd mix sniffs, then licks his knuckles gently, tucked tail relaxing slightly into a wag.

“He likes you.” Smiling, he watches the new friendship bloom, watches fondly as Maverick sniffs every inch of Romiel before licking under his chin shyly and prancing back to Benny, all nervousness melted away into a proud expression that makes his heart clench and warm simultaneously. “Atta boy,” he coos, reaching out to bury his fingers into the mutt’s thick neck ruff and give him rewarding scratches. Maverick pants happily and sits, tail bumping his leg with every sweep over the floor.

They sit in silence, Romiel unable to speak into it and Benny having no desire to do so. It’s nice, it’s relaxation he hasn’t been able find in a long time, and he bundles himself up in it, turning his face into Apache’s flank and curling himself into a relaxed ball, sighing out the last ebbs of the panic attack and closing his heavy eyes. He doesn’t let himself sleep, probably couldn’t even if he wanted to, but he drifts, comforted by the sounds of the dogs and Romiel’s nearly-silent steps as he explores the restaurant. It’s hard to remember the last time he ever felt comfortable sleeping with someone he didn’t know nearby, but everything about Romiel inspires peace in him, and something tells Benny he’s not the only one. Such quiet calm, something nearing reverent innocence, doesn’t belong in this new world. At the same time, it’s exactly what people need, and it needs to be protected at all costs.

 

 

 

Cracking his eyes open, Benny realizes that he fell asleep without meaning to, and it’s dark outside now, which means he slept the day away after he’d calmed down. Sitting up quickly, he rubs the grainy feeling of tiredness from his eyes and looks around. The dogs are sprawled around him, sleeping peacefully and twitching as they dream. Romiel is curled up on the other side of Maverick, turned on his side so he’s sleeping facing Benny with his head pillowed on his bicep. He’s relaxed, breathing softly and deeply.

Looking the other way, he blinks, startled, when he sees Sabriel on the other side of Apache, one hand curled into a relaxed fist on the pit bull’s flank, the other tucked under his head. As Benny watches, he snuffles and turns his nose into the crook of his arm.

“We came to find ye after Romiel didn’t come back.”

Head snapping up, he stares at Aremis, eyes wide. The final brother is leaning against the side of the breakfast bar, legs stretched across the opening and his knife across his thighs, the faint light trickling in through the broken glass making it glitter. Jerking, Benny snaps his eyes to the side, swallowing thickly and reaching out unconsciously to stroke Raven’s head. The Rottweiler opens her eyes, yawns, and then sinks back into sleep, turning her head into his palm as she does so.

“I’m sorry,” he finally mutters, after the silence has become too tense and weighted for him. Aremis tilts his head, the act itself speaking his confusion for him because the darkness doesn’t show his features. “Could’a gotten y’all killed. Was stupid.”

“Panic attacks are not stupid, Benny.” The absolute conviction in those words makes him glance over, squirming, because he’s never been good talking about this shit, not when it was happening all the time and even after. “They aren’t,” Aremis presses, his voice pitched low so as not to disturb his brothers. Benny glances at them, too; sees the sliver of one of Apache’s eyes and knows the pit bull is awake and watching him, but no one else is.

“’S fuckin’ stupid,” he mutters anyway, rubbing at his eyes a little too hard and biting back a sigh. “Should’ve known better.”

“I don’t really know of anyone who is able to think clearly when they’re in the midst of that kind of panic.” Quiet shifting makes him glance up, eyes stinging from the pressure from his palms, and he sees that Aremis has turned more toward him. His words register, bringing a frown, and he cocks his own head to the side.

“Who?” he asks quietly, wondering who the man could know who suffers—or suffered—from such a debilitating thing.

“Romiel.” The name makes his eyes widen, reflexively glancing toward the peacefully sleeping man nearby. Romiel has panic attacks like that? “Me.” Attention snapping back to the redheaded man, he feels his eyes grow even wider.

“You?”

“Aye.” Aremis chuckles softly, the sound hardly tinged with bitterness. He leans back a bit, trying to make himself comfortable. “All the time, once upon a time. Used to have ‘em multiple times a day, I just got real good at hidin’ ‘em.” His tone relaxes along with the rest of him, his carefully-spoken words rolling with a deeper brogue than Benny thinks he usually lets through. It’s a curious change, and makes him seem a lot more open. “Romiel used t’have ‘em all the time too, back ‘fore he stopped talking.”

“Stopped?” Benny looks at the dark-haired man again, at his peaceful face and the gentle curl of the fingers that have migrated slowly to rest in front of his face. He’d thought the man was just completely mute, or something had happened to ruin his voice. “He used to talk?”

“Aye. Never much, he preferred to listen rather than say, but after our Da died when we were boys, ‘twas only Sabriel and I who could get him t’ speak. After I left for Rome, he stopped all together.”

“Rome?”

“Went there to study for the priesthood. Thought it was God’s plan fer me. After, I was sent here, an’ my brothers came too.”

Looking at his feet, Benny wiggles his toes as he thinks. “And what about now?” he asks after several moments of reasonably comfortable silence. He glances up, sees the glimmer of Aremis’ eyes in the dark looking at him. “What d’you think of His plan now?” He waves a hand to encompass everything, every broken plate and table, every damn corpse walking around trying to take a bite out of anything living—the whole shitty, dying world. “Great plan.”

“Aye,” Aremis agrees, his soft huff of laughter full of the bitterness it had lacked earlier. “I knew a long time ago I was runnin’ to Him and the Church for the wrong reasons, but I hoped it would help me. It did, in a way.” The man looks away, toward the window, and Benny studies the back of his head curiously. “I don’t know if this is His plan, or if this is something natural or man-made, but it’s what we have now. We have to survive, have to at least _try_ and make it in this new world. Maybe some day this will all end, they’ll find a cure, or the undead will rest again, or something like that. I have faith in that. I have faith in God.”

Benny nods but doesn’t say anything, not willing to get into a religious debate in the middle of the night with a Catholic priest. Something about his silence must be telling, though, because Aremis looks at him again, the faint light showing enough of his face to reveal his smile.

“If this is indeed His plan, though, it makes Him an asshole,” the priest chuckles. Benny feels an answering smile tugging at his lips and ducks his head, drawing the lower one between his teeth to chew on it distractedly.

“You should get some rest,” he decides finally, extracting himself from the middle of the dogs and stepping over them and Aremis’ brothers as carefully as he can, trying not to wake anyone. If he wore shoes, it might be harder, but his bare feet make no sound against the chilly linoleum as he pads the few feet over. Shyly, he offers his hand, and Aremis looks up in surprise before accepting it. He’s heavier than he looks, but Benny braces himself well and hauls him up. It reminds him of his mother, of helping her get to her feet throughout the years. It’s a memory that brings pain with it, so he’s quick to drop the man’s hand and step around him, choosing to stand rather than sit.

“Thank you, Benny.” A hand rests on his shoulder, warm and solid. His shoulders relax, muscles loosening, and he glances back, nods quickly, and then faces forward again. He listens to the sound of Aremis choosing his spot to sleep, settling with a soft sigh, and then silence but for the various breathing patterns and the sound of fabric shifting as someone moves or settles into a more comfortable position. He thinks that’s going to be the end of it, staring out through the broken window into the broken world and listening to the distant whining moans of Muddies; the far-off hunting cry of a Speeder. A deep breath behind him, and then Aremis’ voice again, low and muggy with encroaching sleep, murmurs, “You should come with us.”

Benny stares resolutely out the windows, his knuckles white from clenching his knife and his eyes burning.

 

 

 

“So why aren’t ye wearin’ any shoes?”

There’s no rancor in Sabriel’s voice, just honest curiosity. He can come off a bit prickly sometimes, Benny has noticed in the day since he’s met the brothers, but his general attitude is playful and spunky. He’s fiercely protective of his older brothers, and they of him, but once Benny showed he meant them no true harm by not killing them after taking watch, the last of the ice seemed to dissolve, metaphorically.

Looking down at his feet, Benny digs his toes into the grass and enjoys the feel of the cool blades tickling his arches. Licking his lips, he glances up again, peering at the taller man from behind the protective fringe of his bangs, and then shrugs. “Don’t like ‘em,” he mutters, accidentally copying the man’s accent again and dropping his eyes. He’s got to stop doing that. Clearing his throat, he turns to leave. Quick, strong fingers grip his chin, startling him, but all that happens is Sabriel tipping his face up. The man brushes his greasy bangs back with his other hand, exposing his wide eyes.

“There ye are,” the Scotsman murmurs, smirking and leaning a little closer. It feels unbearably intimate, like he’s about to get kissed, and Benny licks his lips again and begins to chew on the lower one, trying not to shove away and flee. The fingers holding his chin slowly turn his face left, and then right, while Sabriel observes him like he’s a piece in a museum, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of something fascinating and precious. “Ye shouldn’ hide eyes like those,” he’s informed, the crooked grin spreading and gentling as he’s finally let go. He tries not to jump back, tries not to shake, tries not to _punch_ , because he’s out of his element right now.

“Ain’t hidin’ ‘em,” he mumbles petulantly, shoulders tense and hunched.

“Aye, ye are.” A hand ruffles his hand, and this time he can’t help his instinctive reaction to smack it away. That gets him a friendly chuckle and another attempt to mess up his already-unruly hair, so he rolls his eyes and walks away. “Benny,” Sabriel calls, so he stops and looks back, trying to scowl and mostly pouting instead. “’M serious. That’s a pretty pair’a eyes ye got there. Shouldn’t hide ‘em.”

“Fuck off,” he huffs, deliberately raking his bangs over them again before he crosses the street with the man’s laughter ringing in his ears. Discomfort prickles through him, because he never took compliments well, and Sabriel had sounded like he was teasing. Harmlessly so, but still teasing, so he shakes the conversation from his skin like a dog shakes water from its fur and meanders along the houses that line this side of the road. The dogs had scattered after they’d all woken up, off to do whatever it is they do during the day. He misses them, misses the comfort they bring him, but he knows they’ll be back later. Aremis and Romiel had gone back to the grocery store to try and find more food for all of them, taking the sedan they’d stolen on their first run so they’d be able to carry more. Sabriel had stayed behind to check the houses, and Benny had hung back, too, still trying to get used to having three people around after so many months of having no one.

Walking silently up the dilapidated stone path to the front door, he tries the knob and is somewhat surprised that it turns. Creeping in, he looks around, fingertips playing over the handle of his knife as he listens. He doesn’t hear anything, but that doesn’t always mean that nothing is there, so he proceeds with caution.

A quick sweep of the bottom floor doesn’t turn up anything, so he takes the stairs and checks out the second floor. That’s clear, too—he checks every single room, opens every single door, just to make sure. Once he’s satisfied, he makes his way to the bathroom and checks for any first-aid supplies. A box of bandage, as well as one of q-tips, goes into his bag. He glances at the shower curiously, seeing the various bottles. Unable to quell his curious nature, he turns the closest knob quickly and nearly jumps out of his skin in surprise when the shower sputters to life. He stares at the running water, _actual running water_ , with his mouth open, his eyes wide, and then he shuts the door, strips himself quickly, and throws himself beneath the spray.

It’s freezing cold, but it feels so good that he can’t even care. He still turns to knob for the hot water, and he moans indecently when the temperature rises from freezing to a bit above lukewarm. That’s good enough for him, so he grabs the closest bottle of shampoo, not even caring what it smells like, and washes his hair three times before snatching up the soap and scrubbing every inch of himself until his skin is pink and he’s _clean_.

Afterwards, he digs a towel out of the linen closet and rubs himself dry, keeping his knife within easy reach. It’s a bit foolish to dress himself in his tattered, filthy clothes, but he doesn’t have anything else. Still, his shirt is far beyond saving, so he leaves it on the floor and wiggles back into his boxers and his shorts, and stops when he catches sight of himself in the mirror.

There’s nothing extremely special about him. He’s short, not an inch over five feet, and skinny more because the end of the world doesn’t allow for anything else. He used to be heavy; can still see traces of the softness around his belly and hips that hasn’t been burned away yet. Otherwise, though, he’s lean and wiry, his hair a tangled mess. His skin is surprisingly unblemished, considering how filthy he gets nowadays with no way to clean himself. Huffing, he flicks his bangs, wondering if he _should_ cut them, and then leans forward to look at his eyes.

Heterochromia was not a normal mutation, but there were people out there who had it. Centralized heterochromia was more common, and he’d met a few people with sectional heterochromia—his mom and a neighbor had had it—but he’d never met another person in real life who had two different colored eyes, other than himself. The lead singer of a band he used to love had it, and so did David Bowie, but he’s never met anyone else. Benny turns his head slightly, looking at his right eye—blue, pupil slightly dilated—and then turns the other way to look at his left eye. Green. The shades are close enough to fool someone from a distance, but someone who got right in his face would be able to see it.

Sabriel’s words from earlier ring through his mind, clear and vibrating like tolling bells, and he scowls before shoving himself away from the vanity and grabbing his knife and bag. Determined to at least find a new shirt, and maybe even some boxers, he roots through the rooms again and manages to come up with some of both. The boxers he shoves into his bag. Out of the shirts, he chooses a plain gray one, tugging it on and feeling the soft cotton settle against his clean skin. He twitches, sucking in a quick breath, and then shakes his head and goes to find Sabriel again.

“I found a working shower,” he announces by way of hello, finding the man rooting for clothes two houses down. He deliberately makes sure he’s several feet away, and is glad he has when Sabriel startles violently and spins around with his knife up and ready.

“Jesus, lad!” Dropping the knife, the man puts a hand to his chest, which is heaving slightly. “Ye scared th’ life outta me, ye brat!”

“Sorry,” Benny says, knowing he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He’s always seemed to have the ability to sneak up on people, whether he was wearing shoes or not, even when he was heavier and tried to deliberately make noise so they knew he was there. In the world today, he’s pretty sure that will get him stabbed quicker than anything, which is why he kept distance between them. “I found a working shower.”

“So ye did,” Sabriel agrees breathlessly, looking him over with greedy eyes that has nothing to do with him and everything to do with his clean skin and washed hair. “Save any hot water, ye brat?”

“Don’t call me that. There wasn’t really any hot water. Lukewarm’s th’ best yer gonna get.” Dammit, he has to stop emulating the brothers’ accents. Ducking his head, he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Sabriel doesn’t seem to notice his constant slip-ups, or maybe he doesn’t care. “Why d’you think they have runnin’ water an’ not any of th’ other houses?”

“Dunno,” Benny mutters, dropping his hand and lifting his head to look at the other man. “Might be runnin’ on a different system, or well water, or somethin’. Fuck if I know. Go find out.”

“Fuck yeah I will.” Slinging his bulging bag over his shoulder and grunting softly at the weight of it, Sabriel passes by him on his way out the door, stopping for a moment. “Tell my brothers when they get back, an’ see if you can find somethin’ else in the other houses?”

“Yeah, I will.”

A moment’s pause, and then the man nods and leaves. Benny frowns and shuts the door, deciding to look for more medical supplies and clothes, and maybe anything else he can find that might be useful. He picks up where Sabriel left off, still marveling at the feel of the clean shirt against his clean skin, more sensitive across his shoulders and loose at his waist. Biting his lips, he rolls his shoulders, feeling the bunch and pull of his muscles, the rasp of the fabric, and hums happily before he gets to work.


	3. Chapter 3

The news of a working shower is wonderful, and Aremis cannot contain his excited exclamation when Benny tells them. Seeing the boy looking so clean, much more human and far less the feral creature they’d first found, is testament to his words. And so is seeing Sabriel, his tawny hair clean and glowing in the sunlight, the darker highlights shining through now that the dirt and grease is gone. Romiel hums softly, clearly pleased, and then nods to him, silently giving him the go-ahead to bathe first.

“We shouldn’t stay much longer,” he murmurs, looking at Sabriel and Benny. Both of them nod, hefting bags that are straining at the seams with everything they’ve found. It fills him with pride, makes him feel accomplished. “After Romiel and I shower, we’ll pack up and head out.”

“Aye, sounds good to me.” Sabriel grins and heads for the sedan, throwing his bag into the back seat. Benny watches him go, then glances at Romiel before his eyes finally settle on Aremis. He looks uncomfortable, unable to hold eye contact before glancing away and hitching his bag into a more comfortable position on his shoulder.

“That means you, too,” Aremis says gently but firmly, smiling when that gets the young man’s attention back on him. “Aye, Benny, we want ye t’ come with us. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know. Thank you.” Obviously unsure of what else to say, he shuffles his feet—still bare, how does that not hurt?—and then walks toward the car. Aremis catches Romiel’s eye, and his oldest brother nods once, understanding.

Ever since birth, the triplets have shared a connection only siblings like them can. He’s heard of it before, of twins sharing a particularly close bond, and some triplets, and they share it as well. Sometimes all the three have to do is look at each other to understand and _know_. It’s part of the reason he and Sabriel have always been able to understand Romiel after he stopped speaking—entirely the reason they all understood one another before. A glance is all they need, sometimes, their thoughts and souls so in-tune, so he knows Romiel understands exactly what he’s asking him to do while he’s gone.

Satisfied, he nods and then follows the directions to get to the house—not that hard to figure out, since it’s basically right across the street. Walking up the crumbling walkway, anticipation filling him, Aremis hurries his steps until he’s inside and on the second floor. The bathroom is easy to find, the scent of recently-used shampoo still lingering in the damp air. It makes him smile, and he’s quick to shut and lock the door before undressing himself and starting the water.

Choosing not to take a long shower, even though it’s a luxury they rarely get anymore, Aremis washes himself quickly, only taking the time to make sure his long hair is completely clean and tangle-free before shutting off the water and stepping out. He finds the damp towels Benny and Sabriel used and picks one of them, not caring who used which. There are more towels in the linen closet, probably, but he leaves them there. He’s quick to dry himself off and slide back into his old, ratty pants and a clean pair of boxers he’d kept in his pack, as well as a newer shirt. It’s too big on him, the sleeves falling to cover most of his hands. Chuckling, he rolls them up quickly and kicks his old shirt into the corner to join Benny’s before hastening to rejoin the others.

Romiel is the one waiting for him, eyes sharp, while Sabriel and Benny load the car. The two of them are arguing good-naturedly about how to properly store everything, because Sabriel seems to just want to throw it all into the trunk and Benny thinks it should be organized to get to it better.

“I agree with Benny,” Aremis offers, smiling at Sabriel’s betrayed look and Benny’s surprised one. He grips Romiel’s shoulder, glancing at his brother and feeling tension he didn’t realize he’d had uncoiling in his belly when he’s smiled at, two fingers tapping quickly against the inside of his elbow. Then Romiel’s gone, jogging across the street, and he turns back to the two remaining members of their group. Benny is still staring at him, his eyes wide and something fragile in his expression.

“Your hair’s _really_ long,” he says. “Didn’t think it was that long. Holy shit, how have you not died yet ‘cause of it?”

“I keep it up, mostly.” Shrugging, he twists the still-damp strands up into a messy bun and binds it in place, leaving it be and feeling the trickles of water that are still running down the back of his neck from the wet ends. “Works out well enough.”

“If yer done flirtin’,” Sabriel teases, which makes Aremis sigh and Benny squeak, red flooding across his face before he turns away. Whatever his brother was going to say next dies a sudden, surprised death as they both stare at the young man, who refuses to meet either of their gazes, his shoulders tight and hunched up so far they’re bumping his ears while he furiously organizes the contents of the trunk.

“What?” he finally snaps, whirling back around the glare at the two of them. Sabriel crows triumphantly while Aremis holds up his hands, trying to placate. “Wasn’t flirtin’,” the boy insists, red still staining his cheeks and creeping down his neck. He looks flustered, ready to bolt. “I _wasn’t_ ,” he growls, those words directed more toward Sabriel, who grins wider. “Even if I was, y’all ain’t my type.”

“Oh?”

“Sabriel, leave him be,” Aremis says firmly, but his brother clearly isn’t ready to. “ _Sabriel_.”

“What is yer type, then?” his brother asks, teasing gentling to honest curiosity as he sidles up beside Benny and helps him with his task. As if to prove his good intentions, he bumps hips with the smaller man, who huffs at him.

Benny lowers his head, feathery-looking bangs falling forward to cover his eyes and throw shadows over his cheeks. Aremis can’t help his curiosity, but doesn’t want to crowd or intrude, so he keeps his eyes open for any approaching undead.

“Dunno,” he hears, the words low and mumbled. “Bigger, older, uh… take-charge, kinda. Why the fuck you even askin’?” Here his voice rises, tense. “If yer just gonna make fun of me, you can shove that knife up yer ass and fuckin’ twist it, ya dick.”

Sabriel doesn’t laugh, though Aremis hadn’t expected him to. His brother looks serious, staring at Benny with an assessing gaze. “Yer pretty good at th’ accent,” he says after few moments spent with them both staring at Benny while he obviously tries to ignore them doing so. “You ever been t’ Scotland or Ireland?”

“Ain’t ever been outta th’ States,” Benny mutters, hands falling to grip at the hem of his shirt and tug on it, and then lower to fist at his shorts. “Sorry, I don’t mean t’ insult you guys or anythin’.”

“Nah.” Aremis smiles when Benny glances back at him. “Don’ worry about it, lad. We’ve got no problem with it, ‘s long as you’re not makin’ fun of _us_.”

“Never,” Benny swears, looking so earnest suddenly, all of his previous discomforts forgotten. “I’d never.”

“Good.” Sabriel throws his arm around the younger man’s shoulders, pulling him closer and mussing his wild hair; laughing when Benny growls and smacks at him for it. He grins and looks up, and his expression brightens more. “Romiel!”

Sure enough, their brother is heading back toward them, freshly-showered and beaming. Loping along behind him are Benny’s strays, the three of them dirtier than they’d been that morning, and with some fresh-looking blood on their faces. As soon as they see Benny, they surge past Romiel, breaking into a run together and all-but bowling into the boy’s legs. He laughs, the last of the tension burned from the air with the sound, and drops to his knees to give them all affection and praise.

Looking at the dogs, and how clearly attached Benny is to them, Aremis realizes he’d never thought of the dogs when he’d asked the boy to join them. That’s three extra mouths to feed, three mouths that aren’t human, and the sedan is a decent size, but he’s not sure it’s big enough for the four of them plus three large dogs.

Watching the reunion, his mind churning as he tries to think of a solution, he feels his brothers settle on either side of them and watch.

“Could get a bigger car,” Sabriel suggests softly, tilting his head and watching with fondness in his eyes. “Ain’t gonna lie, it’d be a shame t’ see them mutts go. ‘Specially Apache. Gotten pretty fond’a him.”

“How would we feed them? They’re large dogs, Sabriel. They’ll eat quite a bit.”

“So would three people,” his brother argues, their voices dropped to quiet murmurs while Romiel looks between them and Benny. A tap on his elbow makes him look over.

 _If they cannot come, he will not_ , his brother signs quickly, something like sadness in his eyes. _They have been his only companions for a long time. We cannot ask him to leave them behind._

“Y’all can stop talkin’ about me like I’m not here.”

Benny’s voice draws all of their attention, guilt eating a hole in Aremis’ belly and worming through his mind, leeched from his brothers. “We didn’t mean it out of rudeness,” he tries to explain. “We’re trying to figure out how this is going to work with all of us, plus them.”

The dogs look over, all of them sitting in their usual circle around Benny, all in the same spots they always sit in—Apache and Maverick off to either side, and Raven in front. As if she understands his words, she looks back at Benny, waiting.

“I’ll take another car,” Benny says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “I mean y’all no offense, but I don’t do well in crowded vehicles. Makes me kinda panic.”

“What car will ye take?” Sabriel asks it like it’s already decided, so Aremis figures it is. Two vehicles will make a lot of noise, and it will mean needing more gas, but it’s clear that even though they’re supposedly half feral, those three dogs are extremely attached to Benny, and he to them. Romiel is nodding, too, so the matter is settled. The dogs are coming with them.

“I’ll find one in the parking lot at the grocery store. There are a few there that are still in good enough condition to run. I’ll take one of ‘em.” He’s already walking in that direction, the dogs fanning out around him with their tongues lolling out as they pant. Unwilling to leave him on his own, no matter how used to it he might claim to be, the brothers silently agree to accompany him, their eyes sharp and their fingers on the hilts of their knives. There’s something in the air, a tension that wasn’t there before. It feels like anticipation to Aremis, like something big boiling on the horizon—a storm brewing that has the potential to be either a light rain or a raging hurricane. It makes him want to keep Benny close, always within sight, and the tension at the fringes of his thoughts tells him that Romiel and Sabriel feel the same.

The road slopes upward gently, cresting at a four-way intersection whose lights haven’t worked in God only knows how long. If not for the dogs suddenly becoming tense, their hackles bristling, they probably would have passed through without noticing anything until it was too late. As it is, Apache growls softly and Benny goes up onto the balls of his feet, looking around.

A terrifying screech splits through the near-silent air, and before Aremis or his brothers can react properly, chaos erupts in front of them. The dogs are barking and snarling, lunging toward the blur racing toward them from the left intersection. Benny pivots on the balls of his feet, silent, teeth bared in a snarl, and lunges too. There’s no fear, just the promise of violence, and as Sabriel rushes forward to help, his boots sounding too loud as they impact with the asphalt, Aremis and Romiel follow instinctively. The brothers have always worked this way, even when Aremis left their homeland for Rome. Schoolyard scraps always involved all of them, or none of them, even if the majority were started by Sabriel in some way. It was that way even into adulthood, though Aremis no longer participated in the fighting aspect, but more along the lines of mediation and damage control. Even Romiel, so silent and sweet, is a force to be reckoned with that not many people take seriously enough until he shows them why they should.

No one shouts, or screams, or curses. This isn’t a Muddy; not some bumbling, moaning corpse that’s easy to pin down and kill. This thing is _fast_ , and loud, too, screeching and howling as it comes in for an attack and darts back again. It circles them like a wolf looking for a weakness, but there’s none of a wolf’s cunning in its eyes, only mindless hunger. The four of them put their backs to one another, weapons out and at the ready, while the dogs circle around them. Raven’s muzzle is flecked with foam, her eyes dark and wild as she snarls. She’s leading the attack, Maverick and Apache fanning out behind her as they engage their foe; breaking off to either side to circle it. It’s enough of a distraction, enough for the thing to pause, and Aremis feels Sabriel’s intent a second before his brother draws his gun and fires.

The sudden silence that follows is disorienting and beautiful, but they don’t have time to enjoy it. If they’re lucky, which is doubtful, nothing heard all of the racket they’d just made. If they’re unlucky, which they no-doubt will be, more of the undead will be coming to see what made the noise. They all look at each other, panting.

“Fuckin’ Speeders,” Benny huffs, shoving his knife back into its sheath and shaking his head. He’s pale but unharmed, it would seem, which makes relief bloom in Aremis’ chest. He’d thought for one panicked second that the Speeder, as the young man has apparently dubbed it, had gotten too close.

“Apt name,” Sabriel pants, wiping a hand over his mouth and shaking his head. “Guess that’s how you can tell ‘em from the Muddies, then?”

“That and their veins,” the boy agrees, creeping closer to the corpse and pointing. The brothers follow, wary of the thing even though Sabriel’s a very good shot, and Aremis immediately sees what he means.

“Blue,” he murmurs, crouching down to peer at them more closely. Unlike the Muddies he’s seen so far, who all have brownish veins, the Speeder’s veins are blue. Perhaps that is the deciding factor on what kind of undead they’re dealing with? He feels Romiel’s presence behind him before his brother touches his shoulder. Knowing they’re out of time, he stands quickly and turns away, nodding to them. “We’d best get to the store and find ye a vehicle, before anythin’ else comes t’ see what might be here.”

“Aye,” Sabriel agrees. He’s still got his gun in his hand, looking around like he’s expecting another Speeder to come popping out of a nearby house, but the street remains silent for the moment. Unwilling to test how long the peace will last, the four of them hurry along, the dogs ranging out around them like sentries. It’s a warm day already, the sun shining down on them promising to make it warmer, but Aremis still feels the cold sweat drying on his skin, the panic and adrenaline from the sudden fight sitting like a heavy stone in his belly. He sends up a silent prayer to the clear blue sky, not a cloud in sight, and hopes it’s heard somewhere out in the vast universe.

“Amen,” Sabriel murmurs beside him. On his other side, Romiel crosses himself, and Aremis feels the love he has for his brothers swell; feels their own love and affection reverberate back through the bond they share, warming him finally and lifting his spirits.

 

 

 

 

The rest of the trip is uneventful, thankfully, and it seems like no time at all before Benny’s jimmying open the doors of a minivan. Its former owner hadn’t thought to lock it, apparently, but they’d taken their keys, so Sabriel gets to work hotwiring it while Benny gets the dogs in and settled onto the seats.

“Why didn’t we just drive the car up here?” his youngest brother grumbles. It’s all in good fun, though, because Aremis can see his crooked grin and feel his amusement lapping at the edges of his awareness.

“They wouldn’t have fit,” Benny mutters, glancing back at the dogs before turning around again. He’s digging through the glove compartment, and before Sabriel can get the vehicle started, he makes a startled but triumphant noise and holds up a spare key. All of them share grins, thanking whatever unlucky soul had been so kind as to leave them this gift. Aremis sends up a prayer of thanks to them, followed by one that whatever end they met was swift and peaceful.

“Aye, but now they will.” A friendly bump to the shoulder, and then Sabriel is scrambling out of the driver’s seat and letting Benny crawl over to it. Aremis cannot help but smile as the three of them watch the young man adjust his seat, lifting it up and moving it forward so he’s able to see properly before fiddling with his mirrors. As if sensing their eyes on him, the back of his neck turns pink.

“Need a ride?” he asks, sounding shy and grumpy simultaneously. Aremis glances at Sabriel warningly, entreating his brother not to say anything, while Romiel smiles and lays silent claim to the front passenger seat. That leaves Aremis and Sabriel to climb into the very back, since Apache, Maverick, and Raven all seem far too comfortable to move from where they’ve sprawled over the middle seats.

“Let’s get th’ fuck outta this town,” Sabriel declares loudly, seemingly confused by the firm elbow Aremis places into his ribs. His youngest brother pouts at him afterward, crossing his arms, but he sobers up quickly when a significant glance toward the front of the van redirects his attention. Benny is gripping the steering wheel hard enough for it to creak, his knuckles white. Before anyone can say anything, he jams the key into the ignition and brings the van to life after a few wheezy sputters before it finally turns over and cooperates. Romiel is watching the boy, closer than the both of them. The pale, wispy touch of his concern keeps Sabriel from saying anything else, and while the air is thick with tension, there’s also an anticipation that can’t just be coming from the brothers.

 

 

 

The world is a lot darker without all of the light pollution. It reminds Aremis of growing up in Scotland, in their little home with the ancient, crumbling stone wall out front and their thick woolen blankets. Three beds had been shoved into the brothers’ tiny bedroom, all pushed as close together as they could be. Even so, on more nights than most, the triplets had curled up on one narrow mattress, curled around and on top of each other. He’d always been the one in the middle, with Sabriel on his left and Romiel on his right. Darkness had filled the tiny cottage, all of the candles extinguished and nothing but the sounds of their breathing and the nature beyond their window filling the air.

It feels a lot like that time now, sitting on top of his sleeping bag with a light blanket around his shoulders as he watches Benny poke at the growing fire. The dancing flames are reflecting in the boy’s eyes, making him look wild and beautiful and dangerous when they lift to meet his curious gaze. Raven is stretched out beside him, her legs splayed out and her head tipped back to watch the blonde man with something that looks like pure adoration. Unconsciously, Benny strokes a hand over the Rottweiler’s massive head, the other hand still holding the stick he’s stirring the embers with. Romiel is directly across the fire from him, watching silently. Sabriel had said something about trying to find a creek or something edible and had vanished into the dark forest, Apache and Maverick low, loping shadows on either side of him.

“How long did ye live in Pennsylvania?” Aremis asks quietly, breaking the silence as gently and non-threateningly as he can.

“Nineteen years,” Benny murmurs, dropping his gaze again when the fire cracks and pops, burning eagerly into the sappy wood it’s been fed. “Headed for New Orleans after I graduated college. Came back as soon as shit started goin’ to hell.”

“How long ago was that, for ye?”

The fire is still reflected in Benny’s eyes, making Aremis shiver. He feels as though he is in the presence of something inhuman, but not like the undead they are constantly on the lookout for. This feeling is for something else, something right and righteous. In Benny’s eyes he sees the fire and determination to raze all that is wrong to the ground and rebuild everything that is right and good. It takes his breath away.

“Dunno. Lost track of time a while ago.” A careless shrug, the movement fluid, and then he turns away and the spell is broken, standing and looking out into the dark wood around them. They’d left the cars parked on the side of the road, too far away from the last city to hope for any kind of house or shelter, and trekked into the woods while it was still somewhat light. Benny was more familiar with the area than they were, so they’d allowed him to lead them to this small break in the trees. He’d cleared a small area of ground for the fire, lining the shallow pit he’d dug with stones before he’d settled in to build up the flames.

“Night falls fast here,” Aremis mentions, sensing that a topic change is needed and more than willing to provide one. “Or is the season just turnin’ that fast?”

“Hell if I know.” Benny’s drawn his knife, but he looks to Raven, who remains relaxed even though she’s looking out into the forest as well. Aremis is constantly surprised by the amount of trust he has in his dogs, because her calmness makes him relax in turn, and he puts his knife away. A moment later, he and Romiel hear the crunch and shuffle of multiple feet—or a pair of feet and multiple paws, as it were. Sure enough, Sabriel appears in the circle of light the fire gives off, melting out of the encroaching darkness beyond it and grinning triumphantly.

“Did ye find some berries and nuts, then?” Aremis asks curiously.

“Oh, I found better, brother mine,” his youngest sibling crows, looking like he’s about to start bouncing on the balls of his feet. Apache and Maverick are already settled beside Raven, who turns her head enough to sniff at both of them, checking them over before snorting in apparent satisfaction.

“They catch you some rabbits?” Benny has a grin on his face, like he knows already. “They’ve done it a few times before for me, catching this or that and bringing it back.”

“Hell yeah they caught us some rabbits!” Sabriel holds them up proudly—three rather fat-looking specimens, all of them in rather good condition despite the lifeblood that has darkened their fur. In the darkness, even with the firelight, it looks like black ichor, like manifested sin, but Aremis shakes that thought away, refusing to let it settle and dwell in his mind.

“That’s much better than I was expecting,” he laughs, feeling light and carefree despite the dark path his thoughts had wandered down just a moment before. “Thank you,” he tells the dogs, sincere and smiling. Apache licks his lips and sneezes; Maverick wags his tail.

“That’s my boys,” Benny coos, getting far more positive reactions in response to his praise as both dogs roll over for belly rubs and lick the boy’s face. Raven watches like a proud parent, her tail nub wagging.

Soon, the air is filled with the scent of cooking meat. There’s a worry that the smell will attract unwanted company, but the brothers take a leaf from Benny’s book and look to the dogs to tell them when danger is approaching. They still keep an eye and an ear turned toward the black night beyond their camp, but in the meantime they fill their bellies and listen to Sabriel tell some wildly inappropriate stories about people he used to know.

“So how the hell did you end up as a whore when your brother is a priest?” Benny asks bluntly, but there’s amusement shining in his eyes. Sabriel grins back at him, the shadows cast over his face making him look powerful and mysterious.

“Had m’self a habit I needed t’ be able t’ pay for,” Sabriel chuckles, letting his natural brogue deepen and turn richer with his amusement. Aremis knows those were dark days for his brother. They were hard years for the triplets, after Aremis ran to Rome and Romiel stopped speaking. Part of the reason Sabriel turned to the drugs was because he was so lost, so desperate for something he couldn’t find, because a part of his soul had gone away and he didn’t know how to make it come back.

Aremis had come back, though, after he’d been ordained, and he’d helped his brothers pack up their few belongings; had held Sabriel as he’d screamed and cried and shaken because of the drugs his body was begging for. He’d wiped away his brother’s tears, and they’d said goodbye to their Ma before heading for the airport.

Sabriel hasn’t taken anything since the day they stepped on American soil. The comedown was hard, his withdraws painful to watch and experience, even if the symptoms Aremis and Romiel felt through their connection were dulled. The aftermath has been more than worth it, though, seeing Sabriel returned to his happy nature without any artificial stimulation. When the three of them are together, their souls are always complete. Aremis knows how hard it was on his brothers while he was gone. He knows because it was just as hard on him, if not a bit harder, because while Sabriel and Romiel still had one another for comfort, he had no one who could soothe his frayed soul but God, and most days he felt like the worst kind of sinner—worse than he already was—because God was not enough.

“So you sold your body to pay for the drugs.” Benny leans back against the tree he’s set his sleeping bag up in front of, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. Aremis can’t help but notice how the firelight makes his hair look like burnished gold. A feeling flutters at the edge of his mind, something warm and gentle. He instinctively turns in that direction, to Romiel, who is looking at Benny in a way that almost cannot be put into words, because there are no words profound enough to describe the depth of emotion in his oldest brother’s eyes.

“Aye,” Sabriel agrees distractedly. A glance that way shows that he’s looking at Romiel too, though he’s quick to return his attention to Benny. “Have ye ever done any drugs, lad?”

“No.” Shifting into a more comfortable position, the boy looks down, though it’s not from embarrassment. “Never saw the attraction. Dogs were always more than enough for me.” His face scrunches up, though it’s a long way away from the cold glares he’d favored them with in the beginning. Was it really such a short time ago that they’d met this remarkable young man? “Could ye not call me lad? Makes me feel like a child.”

“Aye, Benjamin, I shan’t call ye lad, if ye can do fer me one favor.” Sabriel’s eyes are twinkling, which usually means nothing good for the focus of his attention, but this time there’s gentleness behind his teasing, so Aremis isn’t too concerned.

“Oh?” Benny smiles. Not a smirk, or a grin, but a genuine smile that makes Aremis’ breath catch, because it transforms the boy’s whole face in a way that makes heat crawl across his cheeks and prickle down his throat.

“Aye. Tell me how ye got so good at accents.”

The young man gives it a moment of distracted thought as he tips over onto his side, stretching his legs out along the top of his sleeping bag but not bothering to burrow into it properly. “Dunno,” he admits at last, looking from Sabriel to Romiel, and then finally to Aremis. He meets the gaze curiously, wondering it himself. “Always just picked ‘em up pretty easy,” he mumbles as he tucks an arm under his head to cushion it and turns his face to muffle his words in the crook of his elbow. One eye watches them still, soft-looking bangs tumbling forward as he shifts to mostly hide it from view. So sweetly innocent, like he doesn’t even realize how beautiful he looks, how strong he is for one so small and fragile-looking. There’s a darkness in him, Aremis has already seen it, but the goodness shines so brightly despite that, overpowering almost everything else. “Most of th’ time I do it without even realizin’, so if I offend y’all jus’ let me know.”

“Aye, will do,” Sabriel murmurs, his voice strangely thick. Aremis jerks his eyes away from the shadows playing down the somewhat-exposed line of Benny’s throat and swallows guiltily before meeting his brothers’ gazes. They’re both looking at him, their silent comfort and assurance brushing heavily against his thoughts to ease the turmoil there.

“We should get some sleep,” he whispers, trying not to squirm and thanking God fervently that he’s had no physical reaction to his less-than-pure thoughts. “I’ll take first watch.”

“Second,” Benny volunteers around a yawn. He still hasn’t made any move to crawl between the flaps of his sleeping bag, but perhaps the dogs keep him warm enough. It would seem so, because as soon as they all settle in, the fire dying down enough to keep them mostly in darkness, all three of Benny’s canine companions curl around him in their normal formation, laying heads and paws on the boy. Raven curls her entire body around his head and shoulders, dropping her head onto his chest with a contented huff.

“G’night, Benny,” Sabriel murmurs. He sends one last look toward Aremis, his intention clear even if he can’t see his youngest brother’s face clearly. Then he’s rolling onto his other side, putting his back to the fire, nothing more than a long bundle of dark gray and his unruly mop of tawny hair. Romiel follows suit, reaching over to tap his goodnight against Aremis’ boot, and then the other way to do the same to Sabriel’s shoulder.

Silence falls between the four of them, although it’s not true silence. The forest is alive around them, critters scurrying about and the wind through the leaves adding to the symphony. Somewhere in the dark, an owl hoots. Aremis bites his lip as he listens, waiting for his eyes to adjust as much as they’re able to. He doesn’t think there will be any trouble, and knows he’ll hear any long before it finds them. The dogs will hear it even before then.

As he keeps watch over his brothers and Benny, he tries to forget about the way the firelight had looked shining in Benny’s eyes, how it had made the dark taint of sin stir in his belly, God a watchful presence over all of them but so far from his mind at that point.

Romiel turns toward him, the meager light making his eyes shine as they look at one another. His brother reaches out, fingers curling warmly and securely around his ankle. They squeeze briefly, offering strength and love, before sliding up beneath his pants until just his fingertips are tapping against the flesh of his calf.

_Your heart does not beat sin, brother mine. No more than my own, or Sabriel’s. Love is love, and will always be so. There is no sin, no damnation. Rest your weary soul, beloved Aremis. We love you regardless, as does He. Nothing so beautiful could ever be so wrong._

Aremis doesn’t reply, but Romiel doesn’t expect him to, not with words. They share their love freely through their bond, Sabriel’s own sleepy affection for them seeping in even though their youngest brother is sleeping already. A quick glance at Benny shows that the young man is sleeping deeply as well, curled up with his dogs.

 _Love you always, brother mine_ , he taps against the back of Romiel’s hand, stroking his fingers over skin he knows as well as his own, feeling every bump of knuckle and imperfection. Strong fingers twine with his, and he brings them to his lips, laying a platonic kiss to the middle knuckle before letting go. A warm palm presses against his cheek briefly before it’s gone, cool air trickling against his warmed skin.

_And I, you, no matter what._

Suddenly, the darkness of the night doesn’t seem so all-consuming and foreboding.


	4. Chapter 4

Benny comes out of the nightmare screaming, his panicked sounds muffled by the pillow he’s shoved his face into. He fell asleep on his back, and he’s eternally grateful that he’s such a restless sleeper, because he’d rolled over onto his belly at some point, which makes it easier for him to bite into the filthy fabric of the pillow, spasms rippling across his body as he fights the clinging, lingering effects of his dark and terrible dreams. The dogs are already trying to calm him down, pressing close on every side in a way that makes him feel safe instead of cornered.

“Benny!” Sabriel’s voice is a low hiss from somewhere off to the left. Raven growls, warning the man back, but Benny understands. It’s not safe, he knows he should be keeping himself quiet, but it’s hard to do when he’s still not fully awake, not fully rooted in real life as opposed to the horrors his subconscious mind so loves to dip him into.

“Yeah,” he rasps, wincing at the ache in his throat and the horrible taste in his mouth. The end of the world doesn’t really give them time for things like brushing their teeth regularly, and his shouting has irritated his throat. It wasn’t that hard to do, considering they’re trying to make their supply of water last for as long as they can until they find more. “’M good, ‘m fine.”

“Muddies,” Aremis whispers, his hand lightly fluttering across Benny’s shoulder blades once the dogs have backed up enough to let them close. His light, nervous touch firms, offering assistance without being overbearing as Benny levers himself up onto his knees and tips his head back. He sighs heavily, grinding his palms into his eyes to try and scrape away the last of the terror as well as the grime that’s built up overnight.

“How many?”

“Four.” Sabriel is by the window when he looks, peeking through the smoke-stained curtain. “Just them, I don’t hear anythin’ else, so if we stay quiet they should go right on by us.”

They found the motel last night, abandoned but still mostly sturdy despite the damage here and there from looting. They haven’t slept apart a single night since they left Benny’s home town, so once they’d done a quick sweep, the four of them had piled into this room with extra blankets and pillows. None of them have any idea what they’re doing or where they’re going, yet, and they haven’t seen hide nor hair of another living person. It feels like it’s been a lot longer than two weeks since Benny and the triplets crossed paths, but today is day thirteen on their insane trek to wherever the hell they end up, since not a single one of them has any idea what kind of safety could possibly be left to find.

A light touch on his elbow has him turning to look at Romiel. He tries to smile and fails, but the silent man just gives him a gentle smile of his own before handing over the mostly-empty bottle of water he’s brought over.

“Finish it,” Aremis coaxes, and Benny’s too thirsty to argue. He drains the bottle and chucks it toward the overflowing trashcan by the single bed; wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stands to join Sabriel by the window.

“Where the hell are we, anyway?” he mutters. This close to the window, he can hear the Muddies moaning and staggering along as they look for anything living they can sink their teeth into. Apache nudges his head under his limp hand, and he smiles down at the pit mix, drawing comfort from him as he rubs his ears.

“Somewhere outside of New Castle, I think,” Sabriel replies. The man glances at him briefly, assessing his state, and then flicks his eyes back out toward the street. “We should probably wait a while after those fuckers are gone, an’ then we can head out. Sound good?”

“Aye,” Benny mumbles, rubbing at his sore eyes with his free hand and trying to stop the yawn he can feel crawling up his throat. He stopped trying not to emulate the brothers’ accents days ago, since none of them have yet to show any sign of being offended by him doing so. After so many reassurances being poured over him, both verbal and silent, he supposes if they really do have a problem with it, they’ll say so.

“What’d ye dream ‘bout then, lad?”

“Tol’ ya not t’ call me that.” Shaking his head, Benny turns away from the window and stumbles toward his pack. There might still be a granola bar or two in the front pocket of it, if he’s lucky. “Ain’t that big of a deal. Just bad dreams.”

“Wouldn’t have anythin’ to do with that bunch’a Muddies we ran into day ‘fore last, would it?”

Clenching his teeth, Benny hunkers down to paw through his bag. He can see Aremis’ worried looks, can feel Romiel’s palpable concern, and he knows they’re just trying to help, but he’s never been really good at opening up to anyone. It was one of his many faults, before, because even talking to the people he loved and trusted the most was like pulling teeth. He was always a firm believer of the ‘ _if I don’t say it, it means it’s not a problem_ ’ motto. Now, in this new world, it seems like an even better tactic to survive. If he doesn’t think about it, refuses to say it, then he can pretend that everything is okay, even though it’s not.

Sniffing, he sits back and holds up a slightly-crushed granola bar like it’s a gold medal. The silence in the room is heavy and weighted, six pairs of eyes on him as he rips open the foil wrapper and takes a vicious bite of the slightly-stale bar. His dogs are slinking closer, watching him eat and hoping for their own shares. Just like always, he takes two bites and then breaks the rest up into three pieces, dolling them out appropriately.

“Just always forget,” he mutters, his palms tingling when Maverick licks them clean. It makes his fingers twitch because it kind of tickles.

“Forget what?” Aremis comes closer, still making sure to give him plenty of space and keep himself in sight. There’s something in his eyes, concern and something deeper. The care welling up in the bright blue depths makes him want to squirm, so he looks away before he can blush too much.

“That a good portion of the things out there now were kids.”

“So it was them,” Sabriel sighs. He seems to have no problem coming up behind Benny, but he’s getting better at anticipating where the man is at any point. After long enough with the same people, living on top of one another and having to rely on each other to survive, he’s gotten better at sensing where they are, or what they want when they’re in a situation where talking could possibly get them killed and silence is the only option. Aremis might try to put him at ease because of whatever horrible past trauma he’s probably told himself Benny has faced to turn him into the hardened, cynical man he’s become, but Sabriel has no such qualms. He’s not rude, or _mean_ ; he seems to be comfortable enough around Benny, seems to trust him well enough, to know that Benny’s not going to stab him in the face for startling him. And he’s right—Benny isn’t going to stab any of them, not even when he’s so far into a panic attack that he can’t see. They’re past that now. For better or worse, he trusts the brothers, and they’ve all come to rely on each other.

“Yeah,” Benny huffs, leaning back against the youngest brother and feeling a surge of gratefulness when Sabriel braces himself to take his weight. Calloused fingers start to card through his hair, nails scraping gently over his scalp, and the last of the tension he’s carried since he woke up bleeds out of him. Out of the three of them, Sabriel is the one who seems to enjoy physical contact the most. He’s always touching his brothers, or Benny, or the dogs. All three brothers always touch each other, affirming their bond or giving one another comfort, and now they’ve started to include him in that as well. Aremis offers him pats on the shoulder and his back, but there’s something in his eyes, something that seems to weigh heavily on him. Whatever it is, it doesn’t raise any kind of alarms for Benny, so he figures the man will figure it out on his own. Romiel pats his shoulder or his back, and sometimes he offers Benny hugs, too, but Sabriel is by far the most physically affectionate.

The man shifts, pushing against the nape of his neck slightly. Benny shivers at the contact, his eyelids drooping, but obediently leans forward until Sabriel resettles and lets him lean back against his chest again. An arm loops around him, loose but comforting, and he has to fight the urge to curl up against the older man and soak in everything he’s offering. It’s platonic, nothing commanding or forceful about it. Sabriel doesn’t strike him as an alpha-type personality, but he’s got the potential to be a good and caring leader even with all of the demons that haunt him.

“Yer warm,” he mumbles, reaching out to Raven when he feels her settle beside them. She licks his palm and mouths at his fingers gently.

“Aye, th’ warmest o’ the three o’ us,” Sabriel chuckles. Warm air blows over his ear, and he shivers again. “I’m also the best hugger.”

“That’s debatable,” Aremis teases. When Benny slants a glance over him, the man’s profile slightly blurry through the lowered shield of his lashes, he feels more than sees the smile sent his way—feels the quick burst of warm affection fizzle and darken into something that trips an alarm, because Aremis looks away too quickly, clams up too fast, and he can’t figure out why. Then again, he was a priest, wasn’t he? A Catholic priest, and the Catholic faith has been against any form of sin from the get-go. Maybe he thinks it’s a sin for Benny to be sprawled out against Sabriel, nearly on top of him now because he keeps inching closer, arching into the fingers rubbing over his scalp again, down the back of his skull to press against the top knob of his spine.

“Yer pretty reactive,” he hears, the words a whisper-soft touch against his temple. It makes him pull back, muscles going tense as he looks away. Sabriel likes to tease him, but he’s not sure if those words were meant to tease or state a simple fact, playfulness a paltry cover for the layers of something else hidden underneath that he’s not sure he can understand.

He’s not sure if he wants to.

“Sorry,” he bites out, flipping back to his default abrasiveness toward anything that makes him uncomfortable as he stands. Apache is at his side instantly, curious but not on guard. He walks to the window, the pit mix following him closely.

“Hey, now,” he hears Sabriel sigh; the rustle of his clothes and the scrape of his boots as he stands up. It’s not until the man drapes himself against his back, nose tucked in behind his ear, that Benny’s tension bleeds out of him in a series of twitching shudders. “Don’ be like that, lad. I meant nothin’ by it. I was just makin’ an innocent statement. Yer really sensitive about that stuff, aren’t ye?”

“Don’t call me lad,” Benny gripes, smiling despite himself. Sabriel chuckles, the vibrations knocking around in his chest as they bleed through his spine, and he feels himself blush before ruining any further intimacy by jamming his elbow into the taller man’s ribs until he grunts and backs off. Apache huffs, play-bowing so that his hind quarters are in the air, his tail wagging. Chuckling, he messes with the dog’s ears, everything else fading away as he basks in the rejuvenating glow of the mutt’s adoration and happiness.

He should have known that it couldn’t last, because his life is a track record of horrible circumstances. Still, he finds it in himself to be completely caught off guard and surprised when the door to their room is kicked in.

 

 

 

Four against two don’t seem like such bad odds, but when one of the two is holding a shotgun to Romiel’s head, his brothers and Benny can’t put up much of a fight. Raven is making horrible-sounding yelps, crumpled where she fell when one of the men shot her in the side. She’s bleeding heavily, her eyes glazed, and Benny can feel the hot tears on his cheeks as he watches her die and can do nothing to lessen her suffering. He can’t _save_ her, and Gods, what the fuck was he thinking trying to bring them along with him? He should have just fucking left them behind in the town, let them be wild and free, because then Raven wouldn’t be dying, Apache wouldn’t be _dead_ , Jesus fucking Christ _no_ , not his baby boy. He is, though, part of his skull blown away by the shotgun blast he took to the face when he’d automatically lunged toward the intruders. Raven had been the next to throw herself at them, and now she’s dying, crying out in agony, and Benny’s on his knees, with Sabriel and Aremis on either side of him, a gun leveled at the back of their heads.

“Not much good your mutts did in the end, huh?” the man in front of them sneers, his eyes wide and wild, his hair a tangled, filthy mess around his emaciated face. He’s grinning, his teeth surprisingly white considering the rest of him. “Couldn’t warn you in time, it seems to me.”

He kicks Raven, who screams, and Benny’s throat stings like flames are searing it from within because he’s screaming too—no words, just a feral roar, the darkness that always lurks at the corners of his mind rising up like a tidal wave to engulf him. It blankets his fracturing psyche like a comforting presence, one he hasn’t felt in a long time, one that he latches onto greedily because it numbs him just as easily as it feeds his lividity. The man holding the gun behind them cracks him on the back of his skull roughly and he pitches forward; catches himself on his elbows and looks up through the curtain of his hair. His eyes meet Raven’s, her dark, wet gaze fixed unerringly on his face, her trust and devotion to him strong even as she dies. He watches her flank raise one last time, her final breath shuddering out of her as the light in her eyes dims. His hands are wet, her blood smeared across them, sinking into the creases of his palms and knuckles, red smeared up his wrists and forearms to cover the scars there, highlighting them like some kind of gristly reminder of the failure that constantly follows him like a dark cloud.

“Shut up!” It’s the man on the other side of Raven’s body, his eyes alight with a fever Benny knows all too well. “Shut the fuck up, kid, or you’ll bring those undead fuckers right down on us.”

“Shut him the fuck up,” the other one grunts. He hears a thump, followed by a noise of pain from Sabriel, and then hands are on his arms, gentle but firm. He recoils instinctively, snarling the way Apache had snarled, teeth bared and eyes feral the way his beautiful pup’s had been before he’d launched himself to his death.

“Benny, listen t’ me,” Sabriel whispers. He looks afraid, eyes flicking between his brother, the men, and Benny. Fingers that tremble faintly cup his face, a thumb brushing over his lower lip, and he bites it. Blood wells up, spilling over his tongue, and he bites harder, wanting to rip and tear, to rend flesh from bone, but the tender fragments of rationality tell him he’s hurting Sabriel, so he lets him go and licks at the man’s blood where it darkens his lips and chin, rumbling in warning as he backs away.

It’s always like this, at first, the volatile darkness engulfing him before it’s followed by the eerie calmness. He can feel it lapping at the edges of his mind, twining with the violence and soothing it to something that approaches what feels like serenity. He knows what he has to do, and he picks himself up. He feels his face smooth out from the snarl it had been twisted into, lips covering teeth and eyes staring blankly at the man with his gun to Romiel’s head. There’s a wariness in those mad brown eyes, now, a predator sniffing the air and sensing another one nearby, though it’s not sure how powerful its approaching foe is; won’t know until it’s too late to run.

“Now,” the man in front says, grinning again even as he keeps his eyes on Benny. “Now, we’re all going to just stay calm. None of you are going to move, because if you do I’ll shoot your friend. Tommy’s going to take your stuff, because it’s ours now, and you are going to just sit there nice and quiet and let him, and then we’re going to leave and no one’s going to get hurt.”

“It’s too late for that,” Benny says, his voice flat and emotionless even to his own ears. He knows what he must look like and can’t find it in himself to care, because these men have killed part of his family and they cannot be allowed to go unpunished.

“Oh, is it? You hear that, Brad?” Tommy’s laugh sounds like a donkey’s bray, and the metal muzzle of his gun is cold when he shoves it into the back of Benny’s neck hard enough to hurt. It’s okay, though. He lets it hurt, because that helps him. Pain is his best friend right now when he glances at Raven, then at Apache. “You talk a big game, kid. How the hell are you expecting to be able to back it up? You’ve got no weapons, and Brad has a gun to your friend’s head. What the hell makes you think you’ve got any leverage here?”

“Don’t need weapons.” Glancing down at his bloody hands, he lets his eyes trace over one of the bigger scars on his left arm, the normally-white line now stained a dark, rich red. “Haven’t needed weapons to deal with fucks like you in a long time.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Brad snarls, foamy spit flecking his lips like he’s becoming rabid. The wariness in his eyes is brighter, now. It turns them glassy, makes his chest heave, and he pushes the barrel of his shotgun into the waves at the back of Romiel’s head hard enough to make him tilt forward, his eyes wide and dark with worry. They’re fixed solely on Benny, his fingers tapping against his thighs frantically in a way that means nothing to the men robbing them, but everything to his brothers. It means something to Benny now, too, but he refuses to focus on it long enough to decipher the message.

“Why?” Benny asks, the calmness blanketing him for now while the violence roils underneath, impatiently waiting. “What could I possibly do to hurt _you_ , right? I’m unarmed, ain’t I?”

Something in his tone gets through, because Brad swears again. “Check him!” he barks at Tommy, and the gun falls away, replaced by fingers that tangle cruelly in his hair and yank his head back.

“That’s a pretty mouth you’ve got,” Tommy leers, his face coming closer as his hand runs roughly down Benny’s chest to paw over his hips, looking for anything he might be able to use. “Bet it’d look even prettier wrapped around my co-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He checked the wrong hip first, dirty fingers grabbing at his right side, but Benny had learned long ago how to wield his knife in both hands. He twists and brings his left hand up, as quick as a snake’s strike, and buries his blade in the side of Tommy’s throat until just the handle is sticking out, blood already making it slick. Without care, he yanks the knife free, not even twitching at the warm spray of blood across his face. The horrible gurgling sound that spills from the man makes him grin, the calmness burned away to let the violence free. Turning, Benny snarls and lunges, distantly hearing Brad’s shout and Maverick’s deadly rumble, because he knew his pup would hide until the perfect moment. Benny gave him that, and now he sends Tommy tumbling back, his head cracking off the floor, and Benny follows him; straddles his hips and plunges his knife in again and again, still stabbing him long after he’s stopped moving, his blood dark and slick as it mixes with Raven’s. There’s almost nothing left of the man’s throat when the final blow comes, his skull offering a bit of resistance before it caves and the blood-slick steel slides into his brain.

Benny wrenches it free and stands, the darkness draining out of him now. He’s shaking so hard he drops his weapon; lifts his fingers to stare at them unseeingly. His knees buckle and he hits the ground hard, a sharp crack of pain radiating through his shins. Maverick slinks closer and presses against him, a warm weight that settles into his side and offers support as the dog begins to lick at his hands. He’s whining softly, his eyes darting between Benny’s face and his hands. When he shifts to press against Benny’s front, his shaggy head bumping his chest, he feels the last of him break and clenches his wet, red hands in the shepherd’s neck fur. A sound very similar to a bark of pain tears free from him, and as if that was the storm breaking, he’s suddenly sobbing so hard he doubles over, pressing his face into Maverick’s shoulder and howling out his agony. Maverick howls too, his loss just as great, and the two of them press together for comfort, trying to piece themselves back together through their anguish, the only two left of their pack—two omegas who are lost without the strength of their leaders, cast out to sea with no hope of finding shore and with only one another to cling to so that they won’t drown.

 

 

 

It's hard to say how much time has passed, or even when he falls asleep. When Benny wakes up again, it’s light out, but nothing feels real. Someone has fixed the door, barricading it shut by moving a dresser in front of it, and he’s amazed the sounds didn’t wake him. He’s on the floor still, tangled around Maverick, who is awake but showing no signs of leaving. Every once and a while, the shepherd mix will whine, and Benny feels an answering echo in his own throat. Without thinking, he licks Maverick’s muzzle, trying to calm him, and whines again when he’s licked in return, the dog’s warm tongue curling under his chin before his muzzle slides down, like he’s trying to tuck it under Benny’s jaw. It’s a submissive behavior he feels himself copying, neither of them entirely sure what to do now that the dynamic has been so utterly shattered.

“Benny?”

Aremis sounds so sad, so heartbroken for him, but he also sounds confused. He sounds like a man searching for answers, reaching out toward the only one who can give them. Knowing that he’ll have to face the music eventually, even if that’s the last thing he wants right now, Benny turns his head just enough to look at the man with one eye, showing he’s listening without giving his full attention. That seems to satisfy the man for now. He hesitates for a moment before seeming to reach a decision.

“Benny, what was that?” His words are soft and straight and to-the-point, but the underlying messages come through loud and clear. _Where did that come from? Will it happen again? Are you a danger to us?_

Sabriel’s boots thump against the carpet heavily as he comes over, Romiel following much more quietly. The scrape of their chairs had been surprisingly loud when they’d pushed them back from the small table they’d been sitting at. Both Benny and Maverick flinch at the sudden sound, curling closer to one another even though there’s no possible way for them to do so without crawling into each other. Right now, he’d welcome that safety.

“’Fore I left for New Orleans,” he mutters, his words rasping out of a throat that’s still sore from his screaming. The pain makes him wince, but he doesn’t ask for water and no one offers any. “’Fore I became a trainer, I was a pretty fucked-up kid. I was hospitalized a couple’a times fer tryin’a kill myself, and ‘cause some days I was so violent my mom didn’t know what t’ do with me. Used to have these moments of rage, kinda like what y’all just saw. Never hurt no one, not really, but I’d get so bad that for a while, I jus’ didn’t want anyone near me. Only thing that could ever calm me down was the dogs I had growin’ up, an’ then the ones my neighbors had when we moved. Had some cats, but they could never reach me like dogs.”

“And this?” Aremis motions carefully to the tangle of his limbs with Maverick’s legs, the shepherd mix’s tail curled over the backs of his calves. Benny shrugs.

“Grew up with a pack of dogs. Always got on a lot better with them than I did with people. Picked up some traits along th’ way. Used to drive my friends nuts, ‘cause I was more likely t’ curl up on th’ floor with th’ dogs, t’ bark an’ whine an’ bite, than I was to dress up an’ go out t’ the mall.” He shrugs again, nuzzling his cheek against Maverick’s fur. “They killed my pack,” he whispers. The bodies of Brad and Tommy aren’t in the room anymore. Beyond the walls, he can hear what sounds like the groans and raspy sighs of Muddies feeding on something. “They were gonna kill Romiel, gonna rob us, they had a gun to th’ back of yer heads.” He looks tiredly at Aremis, then at Sabriel, and beside his brother, silent and watchful, Romiel watches him too. “I ain’t sorry they’re dead.”

“Nor are we,” Sabriel agrees, coming closer. He reaches out slowly, Benny following each minute movement. When the man’s hand settles in his hair, he whines and presses his head into the contact, tears filling his eyes because he can see the lumps covered by blankets on the other side of the table from the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry, Benny,” he whispers, scratching gently at his scalp. “I’m sorry fer what they took from ye.”

Maverick licks at his face, cleaning away his tears and the blood, long-ago dry and crusty, that mix there. The hand on his head drops to cup the nape of his neck, urging him up with slow, careful nudges. He untangles himself from the pup long enough to stand, but reaches for the canine again as soon as he has his feet, sighing in relief when he feels him press against his hip.

“C’mon,” Sabriel coaxes, leading them toward the bathroom. “Let’s get ye cleaned up.”

“Ain’t no water,” he mumbles, stumbling along anyway because Sabriel told him to follow, and he trusts the brothers enough to do so.

“We figured somethin’ out. Don’t worry.”

Romiel follows, and Aremis brings up the rear. The four of them and Maverick pile into the tiny bathroom, and Benny lets Sabriel remove his ruined shirt and pants, uncaring that they’re going to see him naked because right now, he feels too hollow to care about much of anything but the empty spaces in his chest that Apache and Raven used to occupy.

The tub is half full, and he blinks blearily at it, because where did they find that much water? He can’t bring himself to ask, though, and no one offers up the information. He lets himself be helped over the rim, knowing he’s still too far into shock to get himself into the tub safely. A gentle hand presses on his shoulder, a familiar thing for him, and he lowers himself into the cool water; brings his knees up against his chest and wraps his arms around his legs.

“Tha’s it, lad,” Sabriel croons. Benny watches as he dips his hand into the water, which is steadily turning from clear to pink, and then begins to wash the blood from him without reaching for the nearby cloth. It feels intimate, and safe, and he sighs shakily as he leans against the side of the tub and rests his head on the man’s strong, supportive shoulder.

“’M not a lad,” he whispers, too shallow and broken to make it the playful jibe it usually is.

“What are you, then?” Aremis comes forward to sit on the edge of the tub, running his fingers through Benny’s hair carefully. He hears a clink of something being picked up, a soft gurgle, and then there’s water being poured over his head with the utmost care from a cup he hadn’t noticed before.

“Used t’ be someone’s boy,” he admits, closing his eyes and remembering kind eyes and a brilliant smile; strong, calloused hands kneading at his neck and shoulders as he knelt between powerful thighs and rested his cheek on one. “Used t’ belong t’ someone who took care’a me better’n I ever could myself.” He shrugs a bare shoulder and nuzzles against the side of Sabriel’s throat, seeking comfort more than anything else. “He died, just like everyone else, an’ then I came home, ‘cause everyone was dyin’ and I needed t’ know if my family was okay. They weren’t. I stayed anyway, tryin’ to survive even though I didn’t want to, and then I found Raven and Apache, and Maverick, an’ they gave me a reason t’ try.”

Maverick whines and climbs into the tub, so Benny scoots back against the sloping rim and the cold wall to make room for him. The shepherd mix sits between his ankles, sodden fur brushing over sensitive skin. He cracks his eyes open just enough to see his companion and whines back. Aremis’ fingers continue to work through his hair, making sure it’s properly wet before he hears the snap of a cap and smells the sudden fragrance of shampoo. “Where’d ye find that?”

“In another room,” the man murmurs, the slick sounds of him rubbing his hands together quickly followed by his fingers working the lather into Benny’s hair. He shudders at the feeling and goes limp, reaching out between the brothers’ bodies until he feels the warm, dry rasp of Romiel’s palm against his own.

“Y’all’ve got no concept of personal space,” he comments softly, but there’s no bite to his words. He doesn’t know what to do about three grown men washing him off after they’d watched him brutally stab another man to death—after they’d seen him turn into something more akin to a rabid animal. And yet here they are, taking care of him, all three of them supporting him and making him feel safe. They’re making him feel something he hasn’t felt since he had Talon beside him, over him, the man’s hands always sure and steady, always handling him like he was precious, like he _meant_ something, like Benny’s submission was the greatest gift anyone could ever give him.

“Nor do ye,” Sabriel chuckles. His lips brush Benny’s temple before his hand leaves. When it comes back, it’s covered in a layer of terrycloth that rasps over his sensitive skin, only slightly less rough because of the soap that’s been worked into it. “Sit up, lad, so we can do a proper job, an’ then we’ll put ye t’ bed so ye can rest. We’ll leave in th’ mornin’. The Muddies should be gone by then.”

“Gotta bury ‘em,” Benny protests even as he obeys and sits up, tilting his head back without being asked so Aremis can start to wash the suds from his hair. “Gotta bury Apache an’ Raven.”

“We’ll help ye, lad, have no fear. We’ll bury ‘em together.”

 _Together_ , Romiel taps against the inside of his wrist, the rasp of his fingertips making Benny’s stomach clench. _You’re not alone anymore, Benny. You’ll never be alone again._


	5. Chapter 5

Aremis watches Benny sleep, frowning slightly at the traces of discontent and weariness that cling to the boy even in slumber. He can’t ever remember seeing him fully relax—he doesn’t count how he’d been when they’d bathed him, because that was pure exhaustion brought on by his psychotic break. Is that what it could be called? He’s never seen anything like it before in his life.

God Almighty, but that had been absolutely terrifying to witness. It was like the young man they’d come to know wasn’t even there anymore, every facet of personality they’d coaxed out of him completely obliterated, leaving nothing but coldness and violence behind. There had been nothing of _Benny_ left, and the swift, brutal way he’d murdered Tommy, stabbing him over and over again with no emotion on his face and death in his eyes, his fury a tangible thing, has left Aremis shaken even now. It’s a sight that will stay burned into his mind for a long, long time.

“Hard t’ believe, isn’t it,” Sabriel murmurs as his brother steps up beside him. They’re so close that their shoulders are pressed together, and they give and draw comfort from one another without a second thought, needing the support and grounding they can only get when they reach out mentally and feel the love and support of the other parts of their soul reaching back. “I can’t believe such a small thing can house so much pain an’ destruction. It’s hard to look at ‘im like this an’ think he’d be capable o’ such brutality.”

“I suppose anyone is capable of anything if they’re pushed too far.” He wants to reach out and brush the bangs away from the young man’s face, wants to believe the small action would sooth him into a more restful sleep and smooth out the lines furrowed so deeply into his brow. “It hurts that he’s seen so much pain, brother.” It makes his chest tight, makes him feel like there’s a lump in his throat that’s keeping him from breathing. His eyes sting, the small pain edging into a burning tingle as tears well up but remain contained for now.

Someone like Benny, who seems innocent despite the darkness he carries, should never be exposed to horrors like what they all must live through now. None of them deserve it, but it’s so much harder for him to accept that such a young, hurt soul who has so much love to give could wake up one morning and find that everyone he ever cared for was dead and trying to make him the same way.

It's not fair.

_Is this Your punishment for our wrongdoings, Father? Was it always going to come to this? Were we so beyond redemption that You saw this as a fitting punishment? Or is this a trial to determine who belongs in Heaven with You?_

“Aye, it does.” They keep a silent vigil, neither moving. Romiel has gone out to scavenge and make sure there are no other nasty surprises hiding anywhere. Maverick had followed, which is surprising, because he and Benny had been seemingly glued to one another until they got they’d gotten the boy into bed.

Several long, silent moments pass before he feels Sabriel’s eyes on him. “Did you see ‘em?” his youngest brother asks quietly. His voice disturbs the quiet they’ve sunken into like a leaf dropping onto the surface of still water, sending out ripples but breaking nothing. He meets his brother’s gaze, looks at Benny again, and nods.

“Aye,” he whispers. “I saw them.”

Tattoos are not so uncommon an occurrence in the world anymore. At least, they weren’t. Almost everyone has— _had_ —one, although he and his brothers had never gotten any. Aremis didn’t believe it was proper for him to devote himself to God, body and soul, and then go and mar the canvas of his skin with pain and ink. Romiel had never seemed interested, and Sabriel, who was a bit enamored with them, had never found the time or one he liked well enough.

Benny has wings tattooed on his back. They’re enormous, taking up nearly every inch of free space from his shoulders down to his waist. The tips of the longest feathers even trail down either side of his buttocks and reach a few inches down his thighs. He’s never seen anything like them, though he remembers hearing somewhere that wings were a popular tattoo for people to get.

There’s something about the wings Benny has, though, that he finds intriguing. Maybe it’s because when most people think of wing tattoos, they think of strong, unblemished feathers. It’s what he’d always thought of, at least—the wings of an angel forever immortalized into the skin of the one who bore them. Benny’s wings, however, tell a different and peculiar tale.

They look like a mess. The feathers are ragged and unkempt. In several areas, the shafts of some feathers have been made to look broken, sticking out in odd ways. A few spots even look like the feathers have fallen out or been ripped free. The arch of the wing on his left shoulder blade isn’t as perfect as the right side. It makes Aremis think of broken bones that never healed properly.

Benny’s wings tell a story, and it makes his heart ache to even think of what kind of story the boy is trying to tell anyone who looks at them.

A soft, quick knock on the door disrupts his thoughts. He leaves Sabriel to watch their sleeping companion as he hurries to let Romiel and Maverick into the room. As soon as they both squeeze in through the narrow opening, he sets the broken door back in place and shoves the dresser in front of it again. As he turns to speak to his oldest brother, he catches sight of the covered bodies of Apache and Raven, and his eyes burn anew. They’d told Benny they wouldn’t bury the dogs without him, and that’s a promise they’re going to keep.

“Anything?” he asks softly, turning away from the bloodstained sheets quickly. Romiel shakes his head, looking tired and sad. Maverick is already on the bed with Benny, curled up tightly against his side. As Aremis watches, most of the distress on the young man’s face melts away and he turns toward the shepherd mix in his sleep, letting out a quiet sound that makes the former priest think of peace unlike any he was ever able to find except for when he was at his brothers’ sides.

The thought sends a pang of guilt through him, because he swore to devote his life, mind, and body to God, but he knows his reasons for running to the Church in the first place, and he knows those feelings are still with him every time he looks at Benny and sees a young man who is fractured and beautiful and so deserving of love that he wants to give it to him, if it would be accepted. He has always been told that homosexuality is one of the greatest sins, but years of kneeling on sore knees, clutching his rosary and sobbing, _praying_ to a silent God to rid him of his impure thoughts has not taken away his desire for the male form, and the support and unfaltering love of his brothers, who do not care, make it a lot harder for him to hate himself with the fierce passion he once used to. After all, what is so wrong about love, so long as both sides consent and no one is hurt?

“So what next?” Sabriel presses against him, his brother’s arm curling around his shoulders and his dry lips pressing against the side of his face. Twin pulses of love and affection flutter across his awareness, chasing away the undesirable shadows and leaving him feeling, though not completely at ease, still a little lighter.

“I do not know,” he murmurs, running a hand through his unruly hair and tugging it free of the scrunchie holding it up. “We can’t stay here much longer, but I don’t know where else we can go, either.”

“We’ll figure somethin’ out,” Sabriel decides, like it’s just that easy. “We always do, brother.”

 _What about Benny?_ Romiel’s fingers are uncertain, mirroring the expression on his face. _Is he well enough to travel, do you think?_

“Well ask ‘im when he wakes up. Should be soon.”

The idea of leaving the young man behind isn’t even entertained as a possibility. Aremis had been concerned at first, because the ferocity with which he’d slaughtered Tommy could pose a serious problem if something were to set him off again, but he also recognizes that those were extraordinary circumstances. Aside from his hostile suspicion when they’d first met him, Benny has shown no signs of aggression that ranked anywhere _near_ that. The deaths of Raven and Apache had played a large part in it, acting as the catalyst to his temporary break from rationality, and once the men who had been responsible were dealt with, he’d come back to himself very quickly.

“Aye,” he agrees quietly, realizing that his brothers are looking at him and waiting for an answer. “We’ll not leave without him.”

Dusk is creeping across the sky by the time Benny begins to wake up. Aremis has been sitting at the table since early afternoon, looking through the gap of the curtains and watching the sun travel, watching Muddies stumble by. At some point, he vaguely remembers Sabriel setting some jerky in front of him. He’d eaten it mechanically, hardly tasting it, but it had satisfied his youngest brother for the time being. Now Sabriel is sharpening their knives, a job he seems to love doing because of how monotonous and repetitive it is. Romiel is sitting beside the bed, leaning his back against it, though the angle he’s slouched in enables him to keep an eye on Benny out of his periphery.

He’s the first one to notice the boy rousing. He sits up quickly, a soft noise slipping free, and waits. Aremis pushes back from the table and comes over, hovering by the foot of the bed. He knows Sabriel is watching, too, but the constant scrape of a blade over his whetstone tells them that he’s planning on staying where he is unless he’s beckoned over by the person they’re all staring at. That’s probably for the best. The last thing Benny needs right now is three people leaning over him, staring, when he opens his eyes.

Maverick slips off of the bed and slinks over to Raven and Apache’s bodies, laying down beside them and looking so lost that Aremis can’t bear to look at him for long because he feels like his chest is being torn apart from the inside out. Thankfully, Benny sits up then, rubbing at his eyes and looking so sleepy and rumpled, so small and innocent, that it makes his breath catch in his throat and sends heat prickling across his cheeks and down his throat.

“Hey, sleepy head,” Sabriel calls out softly. He can feel his brother’s fondness for the young man, and it pulls an answering smile across his own lips.

“How do you feel?” He catches Benny’s attention, ducking his head slightly to meet the bleary gaze, and blinks in surprise when he realizes that the boy has two different colored eyes. How has he not noticed that before?

“Like a train plowed into my skull,” is the answer they’re given, low and rasped horribly out of a throat that sounds as dry as the desert. Romiel is already there with a bottle of water, the cap twisted off before it hands it over. “Thanks,” Benny mutters, drinking deeply and letting out a sound of pleasure and appreciation that makes Aremis swallow thickly.

As if he’s already anticipated that answer, Romiel hands over a bottle of ibuprofen and they all watch Benny shake several out. He swallows them with another mouthful of water, then hands the half-empty bottle back to Romiel. He shakes his head firmly and pushes it back.

“Drink it,” Aremis encourages him when he sees Benny hesitate. He wants to, he’s probably still so thirsty, but he knows they don’t have a lot of water left and it’s clear to see that he doesn’t want to take any more than he has to from anyone else. When the young man bites his lip, they all know what’s coming. “Benny, drink it,” he says again, putting a bit more force behind his words this time. The reaction is immediate. Benny sits up straight, his eyes wide and uncertain. Their gazes meet for hardly a second before the boy’s flit toward the blanket pooled around his waist, and a shiver makes his shoulders tremble before he finishes off the bottle without another word of protest.

“Thank ye,” Sabriel murmurs. The sound of him putting down his current project is startlingly loud in the weighted silence, and one of the boy’s shoulders jumps in response, an aborted flinch that twists his mouth for a split second before his expression smooths out. “Easy, lad,” he croons as he comes closer, stopping behind Aremis and peering over his shoulder, his body heat warming the air between them and making his tense muscles unwind. “No one’s gonna hurt ye.”

“I know that,” Benny huffs, trying to smile at them and mostly succeeding. It’s gone the second his eyes wander past them and land on the bodies of his dogs, agony replacing the wary amusement. “You didn’t bury them,” he breathes, scrambling off of the bed and nearly falling over when he gets tangled up in the blanket. As soon as he’s free, he speed-walks over to them and falls to his knees beside Apache. There’s no hesitation before he’s pulling the blankets away, a broken whimper spilling out of him unbidden when his hands settle on their heads.

“You wanted to be there.” All three of them wait, concerned but not afraid, because there hasn’t been a single hint of that violent darkness from before returning. Aremis is the one to come forward, to rest his hand on Benny’s shoulder to offer him comfort if he’ll accept it. What he’s unprepared for is how quickly the boy turns toward him, not even bothering to stand up, and shoves his face into Aremis’ stomach, his arms wrapping tightly around the man’s waist. “Benny?”

“ _Thank you_ ,” he sobs, tightening his hold until it hurts, his fingers fisted tightly in the back of Aremis’ shirt, his tears wetting the front. “Thank you, thank you. They’re all I had, they were my family. Thank you for waiting for me, even though it was probably so fucking hard for you guys.”

“Only because of how badly we knew it would hurt ye,” Aremis whispers. He runs a hand through Benny’s soft, clean hair, marveling at how easily it slips through his fingers despite how thick it is. He cups the back of the boy’s head with his other hand, leaning forward and casting his shadow over him slightly. “We would never have buried them without ye, Benny. _Never_. We will help you, though, if ye want us to.”

Sabriel and Romiel come forward then, the two of them standing on either side of Benny with Aremis in front. Quicker than he’d been expecting, the heart-wrenching sobs slow, the boy’s hitching breaths evening out and gentling. He doesn’t pull away, though, like Aremis expected him to. If anything, he presses closer, his hot breath sinking through the man’s damp shirt when he nuzzles against the priest’s stomach and sighs sweetly. Affection and something else he can’t yet name warm him, and he smiles as he gently tilts Benny’s face up to cup his cheek. There’s a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth, something genuine and honest instead of the mocking grin or playful smirks he’s seen twist across the young face so many times already.

“Thank you,” Benny whispers again, closing his eyes and nuzzling into Aremis’ palm this time. After another moment where Sabriel and Romiel each reach out to touch the boy’s shoulder and hair respectively, the four of them come to a silent understanding and pull apart. Benny accepts Sabriel’s hand and lets the man help pull him to his feet, squeaking in surprise when he’s hauled into a hug and a hand ruffles his hair. “Hey!”

“Glad you’re okay, lad,” Sabriel chuckles, and Aremis smiles when he feels the dual relief from both of his brothers warming the edges of his awareness.

“’M not a lad,” the boy huffs, but he’s still smiling, his cheeks faintly pink. He’s quick to sober, turning back to their fallen companions. Maverick presses against his side, up on his paws now, and he buries his fingers into the mixed breed’s fur. “C’mon,” he whispers. “Let’s give them a good funeral, and then get the fuck out of here.”

 

 

 

“Why don’t you have a gun of your own?”

Aremis looks up from Sabriel’s gun, which he’s been carefully disassembling and cleaning. Benny is watching him curiously, his head cocked to the side slightly. In the days that have passed since they left New Castle, the boy has tried less and less to stifle his more canine reactions to certain situations. The brothers are just glad to see him in one mental piece, metaphorically speaking. They’d all shed their fair share of tears when they’d buried Raven and Apache, but Benny had been making the most painfully horrible whining sounds amidst his sobs as he’d clung to Maverick and weakly pushed handfuls of dirt into the graves. The rest of that day, and the next, he hadn’t spoken a single word. Surprisingly enough, it had been Romiel who’d helped him find his voice again. He’s still the same young man they’ve known, though he speaks less now, and there’s a lost look in his eyes that none of them are entirely sure what to do about.

“I can’t shoot,” he says simply, shrugging and giving a little self-deprecating smile. “I’m a horrible marksman. God’s truth.”

“Same,” Benny murmurs, smiling and inching closer to peer at the pieces of the gun. He wrinkles his nose in the most adorable way, strands of blond hair falling into his eyes and making him look so, so young. Aremis hadn’t noticed before, but there are darker strands of color mixed in with the blond, the coloring closer to copper. He wonders if that’s natural, but he can see no roots growing out. “If ye can’t shoot, why d’you clean it?”

“Because Sabriel is hopeless at it.” They share a look and a grin, their banter playful, and his youngest brother huffs at him from across the smoldering embers of their fire. There’s no malice in the sound, so he doesn’t try to stop his next grin. “I figured I’d better clean it for him, ‘fore he put it together wrong and killed one’a us.”

“Psh,” Sabriel scoffs, and he rolls his eyes. Benny chuffs, a short sound that makes Aremis think of amusement, and his mismatched eyes sparkle with glee. The daylight playing over his dirty skin, dappled and broken by the leaves swaying above their heads, arrests Aremis’ attention, and he watches the way the shadows brush over the boy’s round, boyish face.

Maverick woofs softly, making them all look at him. The shepherd mix is dancing in place, his tail wagging, and he’s looking out into the forest. A moment later, Romiel appears carrying two gallon jugs full of water. There’s a bottle shoved in either pocket as well, and one hanging from a chord on either side of his neck. He’s beaming, looking proud of his accomplishment, and that pride is echoed by the rest of them, blooming strong and hot in Aremis’ chest as Benny quickly stands to help the older man.

“Fuckin’ right, Romiel,” Sabriel laughs. He abandons the carcass he was skinning and gutting, a plump rabbit Maverick had brought them, and catches the bottle Benny tosses his way. He unscrews the cap and drinks deeply, moaning in appreciation. When he’s done, he hands it across to Aremis and he drinks as well, sighing in pleasure at the crisp, clean taste of the water as it sooths his scratchy throat.

They’ve taken up camp on the outskirts of a town, tucked away in the forest that lines either side of the road for safety. Romiel had volunteered to sneak into the deserted town to look for supplies—mainly water—and none of them had seen a reason to protest. For quick runs, less people was better, and Romiel was as naturally silent as he was verbally. They wouldn’t have even known he was coming if Maverick hadn’t alerted them. The dog has taken quiet strongly to his brother, which worried him at first until he noticed that Benny didn’t seem to have a problem with it.

“Too bad we ain’t got the cars anymore,” Benny muses after he’s done drinking, his mouth wet and tempting until he wipes it off with the back of his hand. Aremis shivers slightly, his eyes drawn to the boy’s lower lip where he can still see a hint of moisture creeping down toward his chin. “Would be easier t’ haul it with us.”

“Aye,” Aremis agrees, capping the bottle in his hand and setting it aside. Romiel has already stashed the rest with the supplies, which are piled up at the base of a nearby tree. They hadn’t realized their tires had been slashed until they’d tried to start the sedan, and there had been no luck with any of the other cars around them, so they’d struck out on foot. It made travel harder, because they couldn’t cover nearly as much ground on foot as they could while driving, but they’ve been doing well enough for themselves. They’re deeper into Delaware, as far as he’s aware, and aside from a few close encounters with Muddies, they’ve gotten by relatively unscathed.

Peaceful quiet settles over them as they go back to their various tasks. Aremis continues to clean Sabriel’s gun, checking every inch of it to make sure it’s still operational before he begins to reassemble it with loving care. They’ve got extra ammo for it, rounds they haven’t had to use yet, but the closer they get to areas that had once been populated, the more they’ve begun to need it. Knives are quieter, and better for taking out small numbers, but there’s too much chance of being overwhelmed by larger groups.

“Maybe we should all try to find guns,” he muses, and it takes him a moment to realize he’s said that out loud. He looks up and the others are staring at him. Sabriel is grinning, Romiel looks contemplative, and Benny looks wary. “Benny?”

“Don’ like guns,” the boy mutters, ducking his head and looking away. He lifts one shoulder in a stiff half-shrug and reaches out to bury his fingers into Maverick’s fur. “I’ve never liked ‘em, an’ now…”

“We’ll figure something out,” Sabriel soothes. Aremis watches his brother shift closer to the boy, watches as he reaches out and cups the back of Benny’s neck to pull him closer; watches warmly as Benny lets himself be pulled until he’s curled against the man’s side, tucked under his arm and resting his cheek on Sabriel’s chest. Something like comfort and contentment flashes across the boy’s face, tension melting away and his eyelids drooping when a strong, gentle hand starts to card through his hair. “We’ll not make ye carry a weapon ye don’ feel comfortable with.”

“Thank ye,” Benny sighs gratefully. He nuzzles his cheek against Sabriel’s shirt, making a soft noise that is somewhere between a whine and a yawn. Heat blooms in Aremis’ belly, carried to every part of him until his scalp prickles and his fingers tingle. Licking his lips, he closes his eyes for a moment until he feels the equivalent of a mental nudge. Sabriel and Romiel are looking at him, and there’s a matching question in their identical blue-green gazes. His youngest brother is still petting through Benny’s hair, a quiet croon rumbling from low in his throat, the rabbit forgotten again.

The answer he gives them is one they already know. Romiel smiles and picks up the rabbit, continuing where Sabriel had left off while his brother turns to press a dry kiss to Benny’s forehead, trying to bring him back to awareness with gentle touches and quiet words.

“C’mon, lad, daylight’s wastin’. ‘S yer turn for foraging.”

“Aye,” Benny murmurs, shaking himself out of whatever daze he’s slipped into and standing. He fingers the knife strapped at his hip, biting his lower lip nervously until it’s plump and dark. Aremis feels his fingers twitch, his toes curling inside of his boots, and when he flicks his eyes from the boy’s mouth to meet his stare, Benny smiles shyly at him. “Where’re we headin’ to next?”

Rubbing at the rough stubble on his cheeks—though stubble isn’t really the right word, he supposes, since it’s becoming more of a beard now—Aremis tries to think. “Without a map, we won’t really know which direction we’re heading,” he sighs. “D’ye think we could find one ‘round here?”

“Every town from here t’ the coast should have a map,” Benny snorts. “Used t’ go to the beach every year with my family. We could probably find a map in th’ nearest gas station. Can figure out where to go from there.”

“Perfect.” Aremis feels himself smiling, feels how light that information makes him, and is startled to realize that he’d been carrying so much stress without having a clear direction in mind. “Perhaps we can find ourselves another car, if we’re lucky. One we can all fit in.” He says the last part with a clear look in Benny’s direction, wanting the boy to know how much they would all prefer if he stayed close. A quick nod brings no little measure of relief, and then Benny turns and walks into the forest, Maverick loping at his side. The brothers watch until he’s out of sight, the natural sounds of nature filtering in, and then Aremis turns to meet two strong, unwavering gazes.

“It’s not just me, right?” he asks softly. His brothers shake their heads. “So it’s all of us, then.” That makes him feel better and worse simultaneously, and he sets Sabriel’s cleaned gun down on the towel he’d been using, pressing his face into his hands and sighing heavily. “Christ. I thought it’d go away.”

“Why would it?” Sabriel asks bluntly, but there’s no malice in his tone, just compassion. “Brother mine, after everything, after all we’ve been through and done, d’you really think it would be as easy as ‘there one day, gone th’ next’? Come now, Aremis, ye know ‘s well as I that God doesn’t work that way.”

“Aye,” he groans, rubbing a hand roughly across his face, feeling the scrape of his growing beard while he tangles his other hand into his long hair. “Aye, I _know_ , but that doesn’t mean I can just let it happen, Sabriel. I know what we’ve been through, but _him_ …”

“He’s a grown man, brother, for all that he seems so much younger.” A hand grips his shoulder, grounding and offering comfort. He latches onto the feeling greedily, curling his own fingers around Sabriel’s wrist and looking at Romiel. “He’s gorgeous,” Sabriel continues, his voice low and breathy, like he’s filled with awe at the thought. “He’s _perfect_ , Aremis, ye can’t tell me he’s not.” Romiel nods, his eyes dark with something that hasn’t found a home there in a long, long time. It’s desire, pure and beautiful to look upon, wild and free in the way it manifests itself and nudges firmly against minds that echo with the same feelings.

“So what do we do?” Because no matter that they’re all in agreement, that doesn’t mean that Benny will feel the same way. He seems to rely heavily on some kind of physical contact; whether it’s from them or Maverick doesn’t seem to matter, as long as he has someone to lean against. That doesn't mean he'll want something more intimate, though.

“We see how he feels about it,” Sabriel says, like it’s that easy.

Isn’t it, though? They already know the way that Benny’s tastes lie, what he’s looking for—confessed in an embarrassed mumble to Sabriel while they’d packed the sedan back in his home town weeks ago, although it feels like lifetimes now after everything that’s happened since.

“You cannot honestly think he’ll be okay with three men, three _brothers_ , stating their interest in him.” Aremis cannot help but snort, doubt creeping in, and he shakes his head. Romiel kneels beside him, Sabriel a strong presence on his other side, and he turns to press his forehead against his oldest brother’s, their noses bumping and their breaths mingling. He feels Sabriel shift closer, feels his strong chest when it presses into his shoulder and the dull ache of his chin when he hooks it down against Aremis’ collar bone. His scruff scrapes against the sensitive skin of his throat, making him shiver, and the love and support that’s running through the three of them, all of their thoughts and emotions tangled up until they’re one soul with no way to differentiate between who is feeling what, swells until he feels filled with it from soles to scalp.

“I love you,” Sabriel breaths against his Adam’s apple. Romiel taps his devotion into their skin with sweet, loving brushes of his fingers.

“I love you too, brothers mine,” Aremis rasps. They stay pressed together for another moment more before they all pull apart physically, giving one another space. Sabriel takes the rabbit and finishes prepping it quickly while Romiel coaxes the fire back to life. Aremis prepares the spit, the three of them working in sync with one another while their minds stay connected, the three of them slotting together with the same ease they always have, unwilling to break apart for the moment.

“We’ll tell him,” Sabriel murmurs once the scent of cooking meat has begun to fill the air.

“Aye,” Aremis agrees. “Aye, when the time is right, we’ll tell him.”

Hopefully it doesn’t end badly. Somethings tells him that if Benny rejects any of them, the outcome will be devastating.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been to Rehobeth beach before, so everything mentioned is as accurate as I can make it.

Something’s different. He can’t quite figure out what it is, but something is definitely different. It raises the hairs on the nape of his neck, but not in any way that precedes danger. No, this is more like awareness, like something somewhere has shifted and he’s picking up on it, eyes curious but cautious when he looks around the shelter they’ve decided to raid. Well, shelter is a bit too strong of a word. It’s a restaurant—at least, it was, and a damn good one, too. He can remember plenty of meals that took place at the tables around him; plenty of times he sat and smiled while looking out the open front that faced the ocean, itching to jump off the boardwalk and run right into the water.

Rehobeth beach is no longer what it used to be, although he’s a little pleased to see that the seagulls are the same, at least. Maverick is making a fool out of himself trying to catch one, and they seem to be enjoying taunting the shepherd mix. It makes Benny chuckle, distracted for a moment until a presence teases at the edge of his awareness and he turns to look at Aremis. The man looks triumphant, carrying a pack that he’s stuffed full of water bottles and other odds and ends. The clink of glass suggests he may have snagged a few jars of Grotto’s-brand pizza sauce, and that makes Benny grin. Then the former priest steps further into the light, and he feels his breath catch slightly.

It’s almost unfair, how attractive the brothers are, how _good_ they are despite the circumstances they’re all forced to live through now. All three of them have strong, caring personalities, strong features, strong presences and morals. The voice in the back of Benny’s mind whispers _alphas_ , and it makes him shiver slightly every time he thinks about it. Even Sabriel, who tends to act more like a goofball and follow his brothers’ lead more often than not, still carries himself as a leader. Multiple times they’ve asked Benny to do something, kindness lacing their tones, and he’s responded in a way he rarely had with the alpha-type personalities he’d known all through his life. To him, submission is a gift based on trust, on knowing that the one he’s bowing to will take care of him and respect him, rather than taking advantage of a perceived weakness.

The brothers are not like that. They treat every act of his submission, whether they realize what it is or not, like it’s a gift, like it’s something precious that they are determined to care for the way it deserves. It makes him want to kneel any time he can; makes him want to press his cheek against any of their thighs and whine until they start petting through his hair the way he craves. Sabriel seems to love doing that regardless, and it would take a blind person not to see how relaxed and boneless it makes him. He turns to putty, sleep-loose and seeking, and more often than not he ends up sprawled over Sabriel, who just chuckles warmly and keeps petting him like he _knows_ , and he’s giving Benny what he wants because nothing else is conceivable.

“Benny?”

Aremis’ concerned voice reaches him and he jolts back to himself, blinking. He realizes he’s been staring at the man, tracing every feature of his face unconsciously, and Aremis is smiling at him in a way that makes him blush wildly and snap his gaze toward the ground. He hunches his shoulders, stifling a whine, and rubs at the back of his burning neck.

“Shit, sorry, got lost in m’head,” he mumbles. Three long, elegant fingers slide under his chin, tilting his head up until he meets the man’s gentle blue eyes, and he has to bite back another sound as his eyes drop briefly to full, chapped lips, skipping down a cleft chin hidden by days-old scruff and landing solidly on where Aremis’ pulse throbs in his throat. “Sorry,” he says again, the word rasping out of him.

“Ye have no need t’ apologize,” Aremis says firmly. His thumb is rubbing along the line of his jaw, making him shiver and fight to keep his eyes open. He can’t stifle his next whine, the sound soft and breathy as he relaxes and slumps forward, closer to the heat he can feel radiating off of the man. Long, wavy strands of hair tickle his cheeks, falling free instead of being contained in a messy bun. He wants to rub his face against them, wants to tuck himself into that tan throat and just breathe.

“I see ye had luck with water.”

“Aye, I did. Did ye find anyt’ing?” The deep, rolling Scottish brogue makes him tremble. As time has passed, he’s noticed that Aremis has let go of his more proper speech patterns, falling back into the natural rolling brogue Sabriel speaks with. Benny’s accent is lighter only because he’s not actually Scottish, but the brothers still seem to absolutely love when his voice dips low to emulate theirs.

“Got distracted by Maverick tryin’ ta catch a gull.” As if to lend his words credence, they hear the dog bark in frustration. Benny laughs and pulls back, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “I should go an’ get him, ‘fore he brings somethin’ with all his noise.”

“Aye.” Aremis rubs his thumb down his jaw and chin, letting him go and looking like he wants nothing less. It makes heat prickle through Benny, throbbing low in his belly and making him bite his lip. Blue eyes drop to watch the action, then flick back up to his own gaze. Blushing even harder, he spins on his heel and bounds out onto the boardwalk, skirting the corpses of the few Muddies they’d taken care of before splitting up to search for supplies. As he looks around, he can’t help but feel surprised at how few of the undead are actually wandering around. He always remembers Rehobeth as being a family beach, filled with people. Perhaps the Muddies wandered off in search of food, when none seemed to be forthcoming?

“Maverick,” he calls, following it up with a short, sharp whistle. Immediately the dog breaks away from the gulls and comes loping over, his tongue hanging out of his mouth and his tail wagging. “C’mon, buddy,” he hums, rubbing a soft, silky ear before they turn and head down the boardwalk toward the strip. The restaurants are their best bet for food, but he remembers that a lot of the stores sold water, too, and there’s no shortage of clothes to pick from. “Fancy a trip down Rainbow Alley?” he chuckles, looking down at his companion. Maverick is glued to his side, a comforting presence, and he laughs when he’s huffed at. “Aye, me too. C’mon, then, let’s go see what we can find.”

The sidewalk is warm and rough under his bare feet, though not painfully so. After so long refusing to wear shoes, even in the woods, the soles of his feet are tough enough to withstand almost anything. Rather than burning him, the heat radiating from the concrete is comforting. It helps him relax, and his mind wanders again to his companions as he and Maverick make their way past broken windows and a few food joints that make a pang of sadness turn his lips down in a frown. Despite his distracted thoughts, he makes sure to keep himself aware of everything around him, straining his ears for the tell-tale moans of Muddies just in case a few are still lingering somewhere.

“Used to come to these shops all th’ time,” he murmurs. Restlessness fills him, too many memories of good times that have been ripped away in pain and death and blood that’s soaked into the sidewalk and splattered across walls. Biting his lip, he picks up the pace from a walk to a lope, and then finally he starts running. Everything blurs as he runs past, the slap of his feet and the thump of Maverick’s paws filling his ears. His eyes burn, and he can’t say if it’s from the wind whipping past his face or the tears he’s trying to keep from falling.

As he reaches the entrance to the Alley, something comes crashing out of it and they collide, falling in a heap of limbs and startled exclamations. Benny’s quicker to react, flipping them and pinning the struggling form down with one hand as the other rips his knife free from its sheath. Wide, terrified blue eyes blink up at him and he pauses, shocked, because he’s got a teenager pinned under him, not a Muddy.

“The fuck?” he barks, sounding harsher than he meant. Maverick is poised and ready, growling softly even though he’s not showing his teeth.

“Hi!” the young man squeaks, relief flooding his face. His hair is so light blond that it’s almost white, and adding to that his pale, pale blue eyes and how fair his skin is, Benny realizes that he’s looking at an albino. Sitting back on the kid’s narrow hips, he frowns.

“The hell’d you come from?” Looking around to make sure the scuffle hasn’t attracted any unwanted attention, he relaxes his hold on the kid’s shirt somewhat but doesn’t let him up yet.

“Proud Bookstore,” is the answer he’s given, and it makes him perk up slightly. He remembers that bookstore well—it was always one of his favorite places to visit when his family came to Rehobeth for day trips or for vacation.

“Yeah? Readin’ up on how t’ best suck a cock if ye find one?” He doesn’t mean to sound snide or rude—hell, he’s gay—but he’s still feeling a little thrown off-balance, and he doesn’t know this kid, so his default in a situation like this is always abrasiveness.

The gasp and following blush makes him laugh, which makes Maverick relax, so Benny figures he’ll just stab the kid if he causes trouble and pushes himself up, stepping into the Alley and looking around to see if anything’s changed since the last time he was here. There’s a new store, though he’s not sure what the name is because the sign has been ripped down. He can hear the kid getting up and following him, his steps hesitant, and he looks over his shoulder to watch him fiddle nervously with the hem of his shirt. _Omega_ , the voice whispers, and he relaxes the last little bit and turns around fully.

“You got a name?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

“Dane,” the kid—Dane, huh, that’s a cool name—says quietly. He looks up at Benny from beneath his bangs, shy and afraid, and then quickly drops his gaze again. He’s probably got at least two inches in height over Benny, but with the way he curls into himself, he seems so much smaller and a hell of a lot more fragile. If he’s got a weapon, Benny can’t see it.

“Sorry for tryin’ t’ kill ye. Thought ye were a Muddy.”

“A what?” Dane’s brow furrows in confusion.

“Muddy. ‘S what I call ‘em, if they’ve got brown veins.”

“Oh.”

After staring at one another for a few more seconds, Benny nods tightly and heads for the store across from the one they’re standing in front of. The door is still propped open, a welcome mat thrown in front of it. He steps over the threshold cautiously, moving aside to let Maverick slink in and watching the dog as he roams. He shows no signs of aggression, and nothing pops out of the clothing racks, so he slides his knife back into its sheath and starts to peruse the selection of shirts and hoodies. The t-shirt he’s wearing currently is very nearly a lost cause, so he strips it off and lets it drop, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck.

“Those wings are beautiful,” Dane whispers. He’s following closely, and for all that he’s a stranger, Benny can’t bring himself to mind him tagging along for now. He’s quiet, and his presence is soft and comforting in a way that puts him at ease.

“Thanks,” he grunts in reply, yanking a shirt off of its hanger and not even bothering to read what it says before he pulls it on. “What the fuck’re ye doin’, hidin’ in a bookstore?”

“Trying to survive.” The smile that crosses Dane’s face is self-deprecating. “I wasn’t doing a very good job of it. I heard a noise and I ran, and then I ran right into you. Thanks for not killing me, by the way. Although, to be honest, I might have preferred to die at your knife as opposed to a bite.” His voice is so soft that Benny has to strain to hear him; so sweet it makes him think of honey and clover, like a warm summer day and pure innocence.

“You got anyone else with you? Anyone I should worry about?”

Dane’s face crumples, and Benny feels like an asshole even though he wasn’t even trying to be mean. “No,” the kid whispers, shaking his head. “No, it’s just me.”

The silence that falls then is awkward. Benny decides that he just shouldn’t talk, so he busies himself by stuffing shirts and shorts into his backpack, rolling them to try and make more room. The shorts he’s wearing are slowly sliding off his hips, a bit baggier on him now than they’d been a week ago. Maybe he should try to find them all some belts? Something tells him Sabriel will be absolutely thrilled if he brings him one that’s got rainbow studs on it.

“So where are you from?”

“Pennsylvania.”

“Really?” Dane looks surprised, and Benny feels his lips twitch. “You have an accent.”

“Aye. Pick ‘em up really fast, an’ the people I’m with are Scottish.”

“You’re with a group?”

Zipping up his bulging pack, Benny slings it back over his shoulders and heads for the door. Maverick lopes ahead of him, his ears twitching, and Dane follows. It feels strange to be leading someone in any way, even if he’s just walking and not actually guiding anyone along. “Aye,” he murmurs, stepping back out into the sunlight and looking around. Part of him wants to go and check out the bookstore for old time’s sake, but he knows he should be getting back to Aremis. He didn’t exactly tell them where he’d be going, and he knows they’ll start to worry if they think he’s been gone for too long. The thought fills him with warmth and brings a smile to his face. Then Maverick spins around, snarling, and Dane screams, and reality comes crashing back down in the form of a Muddy’s hungry moan and the bright spray of blood.

 

 

 

“Benny!”

Sabriel drops to his knees beside him, uncaring that he’s landed in a pool of blood— _Dane’s blood, god, **why**_ —and reaches out to cup his wet cheeks. Wet with tears or wet with blood, Benny isn’t sure. Maybe both? “Fuck, lad, I heard screamin’, and then I heard ye shout. Are ye alright?”

He can’t speak, and he doesn’t look away from Dane’s face. The terror that had morphed it is gone, the lines of pain smoothed away as he stares sightlessly up at the sky. There’s blood in his hair, on his face, his throat; his shirt torn at his shoulder where the Muddy had latched on and ripped into him.

“Wasn’t fuckin’ meant for this world,” he rasps tonelessly. Sabriel makes a questioning sound. God, his eyes hurt. His chest hurts too, like a vice is squeezing his lungs. “So fuckin’ innocent, didn’t even have a fuckin’ weapon. Fuck knows how he lived this long.”

“Benny,” the man whispers, his hands gentle as he brings him closer. Like the snap of a rubber band, the tension breaks and he collapses against his friend's chest, sobbing and gripping at his shirt with bloody fingers, nails digging into the flesh beneath the cloth. He wants to claw his way into Sabriel’s body, wants to get away from the world and from sweet-spoken boys and innocence that can no longer have a place in how things are.

“He was just a kid,” he sobs, and he can’t even figure out why he’s so upset about having to drive his knife into the skull of someone he hadn’t even known an hour. He didn’t know Dane, knew nothing about him but his name and his innocence, and god, it _hurts_. “Just a fuckin’ kid. Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Sabe, what th’ hell.”

“Easy, lad,” the man croons, and he feels gentle fingers carding through his hair, scratching at his scalp in a way that never fails to relax him. “Easy, little lad, I’m here. Go ahead, let it out. I’m here.”

By the time he runs out of tears, Aremis and Romiel have found them. Benny curls up against Romiel’s chest, sucking in harsh, painful drags of air while the man rubs his neck and back and presses dry, soft kisses against his temple. The feel of a strong, unyielding body against his own, wrapping him up in comfort, and knowing that two more are waiting nearby to help in whatever way they can, finally makes the tension in his lungs unwind. His next breath is easier, the one after that even more so.

“There ye are,” Aremis whispers, running his knuckles down the length of Benny’s spine. It makes him shiver and melt against Romiel even more, tucking his head under the dark-haired man’s strong chin. “Are ye with us again, Benny?”

“Aye,” he rasps, closing his eyes and just breathing for a moment before gently untangling himself from Romiel and standing. The brothers stand with him, waiting but not reaching, letting him set the pace and decide. He looks past Romiel, down at the boy laying dead on the sidewalk, looking so peaceful despite the blood and the rotting corpse sprawled a few feet away, Dane’s blood still wet on its mouth and face. Shuddering, he turns and walks away, gripping the straps of his backpack so hard his knuckles ache. Maverick stays glued to his side, his head and tail hanging low.

“We need to find somewhere to sleep for the night,” Sabriel decides. Benny glances at him and sees that the man is looking up at the sky. It’s edging from afternoon into early evening, but there’s still plenty of light to see by. He narrows his eyes.

“Why? Plenty of daylight left t’ burn. We should keep movin’.”

“Aye, but we still don’t know which way we’re goin’, an’ we should take th’ night t’ decide.”

“Never stopped us b’fore.” Benny feels agitated, a feeling that’s transferred to Maverick, because the shepherd mix starts pacing up and down the boardwalk alongside the benches. It feels like if he stops walking, he’s going to shake out of his own skin. It’s not quite a panic attack, but he doesn’t know how else to label it, so he just keeps walking up the boardwalk toward the condos his family always stayed in. He wonders what kind of condition they’re in.

“Benny-”

“Fuck you!” Spinning on his heel, he spits the words at Aremis. His sudden flare of aggression surprises the brothers, the priest especially, and Benny feels bad about it, because a part of him knows they’re just trying to help him, but the rest of him is furious about it. “Ain’t some shrinkin’ violet,” he continues harshly, his voice loud and sharp. He needs to be quiet, he needs to _go_ , but he’s rooted to the spot, his skin crawling and too tight. “I took care’a myself just fuckin’ fine ‘fore y’all got there! Was doin’ fuckin’ peachy, so don’t fuckin’ treat me like I can’t handle shit, okay? Fuckin’ Christ, I just want to leave. Can’t we just fuckin’ leave?”

His eyes hurt, his voice breaks, and now he’s begging. All of his anger flees, leaving him shaking and hurting and desperate for something he’s not even completely sure how to name. When he used to get like this before, Talon would take him away from everyone else and calm him down the way he knew best, standing while Benny knelt with his face pressed against the man’s leg, talking him down and petting him until he felt sleep-drunk and able to handle things.

Pain jars him out of his thoughts, and Benny realizes that he’s dropped to his knees. He lets go of the straps of his backpack and flexes his sore fingers, whining pitifully as he looks up at the brothers, all three of them staring at him with the same expression. “Please,” he whispers, dropping his gaze and bowing his head. “Please, I can’t… I can’t stay here. Not now.”

Fingers touch his forehead and he flinches because he hadn’t heard any of them move. When he glances up, Sabriel palms his forehead and gives him something to lean against, a way to anchor himself. Benny presses into the contact so hard it makes his head ache, closing his eyes and whining again.

“We’ve got ye, little lad,” the man murmurs, and like those words were permission for all of them, he feels Aremis and Romiel settle on either side of him. They’re permission for him, too, and when Sabriel begins to pet through his hair the way he knows Benny loves, his next breath stutters out on a sigh and he slumps sideways.

Aremis’ thigh is firm against his cheek, not giving an inch, just like the man. He braces himself easily to take Benny’s weight, and he can’t stop himself from nuzzling closer and breathing in deeply, the scent of dirt and sweat and something he can’t place filling his nose and seeping into his bloodstream. Romiel crouches down, elbows resting on his knees, and _looks_ at Benny, his expression something between concerned and so loving that he’s almost not sure what to do with it. Strong fingers knead into his shoulders, massaging away the tension, wiping away the hurts until he stops trembling like a new leaf in the wind.

“We’re all in this together,” Aremis whispers, his palm low on the nape of Benny’s neck so as not to interfere with Sabriel’s strokes. “We’ve got ye, Benny, an’ ye’ve got us as well. We’ll not leave ye, an’ we’ll not hurt ye. We’re not tryin’ to make it seem like ye can’t handle yerself. Yer not weak, little one, an’ we know that. God, there’s so much strength in ye that it takes my breath away, an’ ye seem determined t’ carry th’ world even when ye don’ have to. Let us carry it too, Benny. Let us help. Can ye do that for us?”

Whining, Benny nods into Aremis’ thigh, the scrape of denim rough against his cheek. It makes him shudder, makes him _ache_. He reaches for Romiel, reaches for any of them, and sighs happily when the fingers leave his loosened shoulders and curl around his questing hand. A gentle tug and he lets himself be led, shifting until he’s between the spread cradle of the man’s legs and he can curl up against his chest and nuzzle against the softer material of his shirt. Sabriel stops petting him long enough for him to resettle himself, and as soon as Benny turns his head, seeking, asking without words, he starts again. Each gentle stroke, every little scratch of bitten nails, makes him purr.

“There ye go, little lad,” Sabriel croons. “There ye go. Not alone, see? Never alone again, for as long as ye let us be here. Whatever you need, sweetheart.”

“Jus’ need ye,” he murmurs, staring sightlessly at Romiel’s shirt, his eyelids heavy and his breathing easy. “In whatever way I can have ye.”

“Ye’ve got us in whatever way ye need, little one.” The air shifts, the warm breeze warming further when Aremis’ face comes close, his hand falling away. Sabriel helps him turn his head, leading him subtly in a way that makes him feel safe rather than forced. “May I kiss ye, Benny?”

“Aye,” he sighs sweetly, all-but falling against the man again. He’s caught, just like he knew he would be, strong hands cradling him and making sure he’s okay before they cup his cheeks and tilt his face up a little bit. Anticipation warms his belly and crackles in the air around them. It feels nothing at all like tension and everything like hope, nothing like new beginnings and everything like ease and familiarity. There’s no fumbling between the four of them, no trying to figure out what fits best where, and yet they don’t click perfectly into place. At least, Benny doesn’t click perfectly in with them, not the way they mold to one another like only they can. He’s finding his place, though, and it feels like coming home after being away for a long time.

Dry lips brush against his and he hums, nuzzling until their noses press together and he can breathe Aremis in, his facial hair scratching Benny’s cheek in a way that makes him want to squirm and rub harder. He doesn’t, though, because that has no place here right now. That’s not what this is about, so he lets the man pepper sweet, gentle kisses against his mouth and face, each one easy and cathartic. There’s no demand, no need for reciprocation unless he so chooses, and when he kisses back it’s painfully shy, his cheeks heating with his blush, because all three of them are so strong and sure, and he’s not. It doesn’t make him feel inferior, though. It makes him feel cared for, like no matter what he chooses to give them, they’ll accept it and treat it with the reverence they believe it deserves.

“C’mere, little lad.” Sabriel hunkers down finally, Aremis’ hands leaving so that his can replace his brother’s, turning and tilting Benny’s face. He lets himself be led again, lets himself trust them because they’ve given him every reason to. His lips are just as gentle as Aremis’, just as patient.

“M’not a lad,” he mumbles against the other man’s mouth, and the hot puff of air when Sabriel laughs makes him shiver.

“Aye, ye are.” It’s breathed across his skin, painting an invisible claim that he has no desire to deny. “Our little lad, our sweet little one. Yer a mouthy little shit, there’s no denyin’ that, but we wouldn’t have ye any other way. Okay with that?”

“Aye.”

“Ye want t’ be ours, Benny?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he whimpers, and the lips pressed against his curl into a smile. They flutter against his again, once, twice, and then Sabriel pulls back and he feels himself instinctively turning to Romiel, cracking open his eyes. He doesn’t even remember when he closed them. Romiel smiles at him, warm and so alive. Silent but so loving, and Benny curls against him the way he always does, nuzzling up under his chin and breathing against the damp underside of his jaw. Whining, he licks the skin there the way a submissive dog would lick the underside of their alpha’s muzzle, tasting salt and life and knowing that if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

Romiel lets him squirm against him, lets him lick and nuzzle while he cups the back of his head with a supportive hand. Benny leans back into the contact with a pleased sigh, closing his eyes again, and he smiles when he feels the man kiss the tip of his nose. The next kiss is just above his upper lip, and then finally their mouths brush together.

Peace unlike anything he’s felt in too long settles over Benny. Maverick whines, squirming into the tangle of their bodies so he can press his head against Benny’s chest, and he hugs his friend tightly, nuzzling against the base of the closest ear. When they pull apart, he opens his eyes fully and watches Maverick nuzzle and lick under Romiel’s jaw like he just has, and then Sabriel’s and Aremis’ as well. They accept, petting him and smiling, and when he backs away Benny leans into the space he’s just vacated and does the same. He licks under their jaws and nuzzles them, reaffirming the submission they’ve already accepted from him.

“Alphas,” he murmurs happily.

“Whatever you need us to be, little one,” Aremis promises, stroking through his hair. The brothers stand almost simultaneously, supporting him with their hands and their loving gazes. For a moment, Benny remains kneeling, basking in the affection and feeling more grounded now than he has since he left Louisiana. When he’s ready, he stands on his own, and as soon as he’s on his feet he’s wrapped up into the biggest hug he’s ever received, all three of them pressing close enough that there’s nothing but heat and strength with no hope for a cool breeze, but he can’t find it in himself to mind at all. This doesn’t feel like being cornered.

This feels like coming home.

“Will ye let us stay the night?” Sabriel asks quietly, and Benny nods. There’s still enough light to see by, but traveling at night is a lot more dangerous now that they’re in a more populated area. Now that he’s calm, he understands the need to come up with a plan, and giving themselves the night to do so can only help them further.

“Aye. I know where we can sleep, too. C’mon.”

They follow close behind him, silent and serene. As they walk toward Edgewater House, Benny glances toward the ocean and inhales, taking the scent of the salt water deep into his lungs and smiling. The sounds of the waves breaking against the wet sand reminds him of years spent standing against other waves, bracing himself for the force of them as they slammed into his small body; laughing when they sent him head-over-heels, or beaming when he managed to withstand the raw power of them. The three men behind him possess the same power he’s always felt from the ocean, but their waves lap at him rather than knocking him on his ass. They buoy him along, carrying him away from the instability of fathomless waters and back toward the shore; helping him find his footing. Leading him home.

Benny smiles and buries his fingers into the fur across Maverick’s narrow shoulders.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, it's a little bit shorter than the others, but only a little bit! Hope y'all like it anyway.
> 
> The boys come up with a plan.

“Why Virginia?”

Bless him, Benny looks and sounds like he’s still mostly asleep, and Aremis cannot help the way his heart swells with affection when he looks at their grumpy, rumpled boy sitting on the middle of the bed, cocooned in his blanket. The sun is rising over the ocean, stretching tendrils of ember across vast, rippling blue. It slants in through the glass doors that lead out to the balcony, fractured by the vertical blinds so that it spills across the murphy bed in the living room in bars of color and smoky shadows. When he’d looked out earlier, he’d seen the dorsal fins of dolphins breaking the surface before slipping below the water again.

It's no wonder Benny’s family chose to stay in a place right off the water. The view is stunning.

Sabriel chuckles and rolls over on Benny’s other side, slinging an arm across the younger man’s waist and hauling him back down despite the whine and badly-aimed swat Benny aims at his head.

“Stop,” their boy fusses, but he doesn’t try to get away. Rather, he curls himself up into a ball and wriggles closer to Sabriel, nothing but his untidy mop of hair sticking out above the top of his blanket. “Wanna sleep. Didn’ answer me, ‘Mis. Why Virginia?”

“Day’s a’wastin’, little lad,” Sabriel sing-songs even as he curls himself around Benny. The uncharted levels of affection on his face match the warmth in Aremis’ chest, and he watches his brother kiss the crown of Benny’s head before pressing his nose into the soft, clean strands.

They’d been absolutely stunned when they’d realized that they had the potential of running water thanks to the building’s generator system, which they’d hunted down the manual for to figure out how to get it working. All four of them had showered before shutting it off again, just in case. The feeling of clean skin and clean clothes is one he’s no longer used to, although it had felt good to take care of the wilderness growing on his face with the razor Sabriel had found in another condo. Benny had pouted adorably at the thought of him shaving off his beard, so he’d compromised and trimmed it back to scruff, which seemed to satisfy the boy. Romiel had followed his lead, while their youngest brother had shaved everything off.

They’re stocked in the canned food department now thanks to all of the condos around them—they should probably try to find another car soon, though, to make traveling easier. Especially if they all agree on Virginia.

“The way I see it, Virginia is a whole state of forests, an’ we already know th’ Muddies an’ their kin tend t’ congregate in populated areas,” he tells them. The wall is cool against his back, and he shifts to try and soothe an itch between his shoulder blades. Romiel tilts his head back over the arm of the couch to see him better, his expression thoughtful.

“So, what, we’re goin’ for solitude over security an’ shelter?” Sabriel doesn’t sound opposed to the idea, even though he’s frowning. Aremis can faintly feel his youngest brother’s thoughts like a fast-flowing river in the back right corner of his mind.

“Would ye feel safe ‘round that many people, if we did find somewhere?” It’s a legitimate question, and he waits for the answer he knows is coming.

“Fuck no,” Benny grumbles immediately. The lump of blanket he’s wrapped in erupts when he starts trying to fight his way out of it, all flailing limbs and scrunched-up face as he huffs in annoyance. “Fuckin’ done with people that ain’t us.”

Something like sadness transforms the boy’s face for a second, and Aremis thinks of white hair and pale blue eyes—a Muddy bite and an emotional breakdown. Pushing himself off the wall, he walks over and cups the side of Benny’s face, bringing him into a soft, sweet kiss. There’s a surprised flinch, but then their boy melts against him with a sweet little noise of contentment.

“I don’t much think I care for th’ company of strangers, either,” he murmurs when he pulls back and begins to stroke his thumb over soft skin. It’s such a small statement, but the hopeful smile that blooms in response takes his breath away. “Had enough’a people when I was a priest.”

“That ain’t very pious of ye, Father,” Benny chuckles. And oh, but the way the title rolls off their boy’s tongue makes heat prickle up his neck.

“Stop, ye little minx.”

Benny grins, all cheek, and turns his head to lick Aremis’ thumb quickly before he rolls around Sabriel and off the other side of the bed. When he stands up, Maverick rises with him, laying his head on the corner of the mattress and panting happily. “’M gonna make breakfast. What d’ye gentlemen desire?”

“Somethin’ that isn’t on th’ menu,” Sabriel leers playfully. Aremis opens his mouth to scold him for his crassness, but the words die quickly in his throat when a beautiful blush floods across Benny’s cheeks. Their boy mumbles something too quietly for any of them to hear, and then he scampers out onto the balcony; the vertical blinds clacking and swaying from the force of his passage. The brothers share similar looks of surprise before Romiel stands and follows. He’s always been the best at calming others down, so Sabriel and Aremis let him go. He and Maverick slip out after Benny, closing the sliding glass door behind them.

“Well, I guess that kind’a teasin’ is out,” his youngest brother murmurs with a pout. “Didn’ mean t’ send ‘im runnin’, though.”

“Aye, I know ye didn’. Apologize to him later, once he’s calmed.”

“Aye,” Sabriel agrees quietly as he finally stands and stretches. His brother is long and lean, his stomach flat and his muscles defined. The three of them share this trait, not an ounce of fat anywhere on them it doesn’t need to be.

Benny is the same way, although he can remember feeling a little softness around the boy’s waist and hips the night they’d bathed him. It’s probably gone by now—running like they do and rationing their food doesn’t give a person time to build up any kind of fat. Still, it makes him wonder what he’d looked like before. It doesn’t matter either way, because the brothers have always believed in loving the person, not the body. If a comment like the one Sabriel had made was enough to send him running, though, then what must he think of himself; what kind of self-esteem does he have?

Aremis tries to think back over all of the things they’ve said in the past weeks, every comment Benny made about himself. Rather than the words themselves, he tries to remember the tone the boy had said them with, the look in his eyes when he had, and he frowns heavily.

“Oi,” his brother murmurs as he comes close. Sabriel presses along his side and rests his chin on his shoulder, his nose rubbing against his neck. “What’s got ye so maudlin now? ‘S like it’s rainin’ in m’ head.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, turning so that they can press their foreheads together. Sabriel drapes an arm loosely around his neck, their eyes fluttering closed as they pass comfort back and forth. “Was thinkin’.”

“’Bout our boy, yeah? Go on, then, share with th’ class.”

“I don’ believe he thinks very highly of himself, Sabe. I don’ like that.” Sighing, he grips a handful of his brother’s shirt and squeezes. “He’s so beautiful. Why can’t he see it?”

“Th’ good ones never do, brother mine. Usually means they had a lot of shitty people tell ‘em a lot o’ bad things. We’ll get there, though. Look how far we’ve come already. Feels like jus’ yesterday I was wakin’ up an’ seein’ some feral boy perched on yer chest with a knife in yer face. Thought I was gonna fuckin’ die right along wit’ ye.”

“I’m glad it didn’t turn out that way.”

“Aye.”

They stand there, just breathing, words unnecessary for the moment as they soothe one another through their bond. As one, they reach out to brush against Romiel’s mind, getting back love and reassurance that goes a long way to putting them both at ease. Then Sabriel chuckles.

“Y’know, we never gave each other nicknames b’fore. He gave ‘em to us,” he says quietly, and Aremis smiles.

“Aye. It’d never occurred t’ me, to do that. I like ‘em, though. Feels like it’s somethin’ special, even if he’s just doin’ it t’ make things easier. It isn’t exactly easy t’ say our names.”

“He’s never had a problem with it. Such a little treasure we’ve found. Can we keep him?”

It reminds him of a conversation had a lifetime ago. Back then, his answer had been a lot different than the one he gives now. On that day, Benny had been a stranger to them, too feral by half and with no desire to know them. Things really have changed. His answer certainly has.

“Forever sounds good t’ me.”

 

 

 

Benny creeps back into the room like he’s afraid of his welcome, his head down and an air of embarrassment around him that simply cannot be allowed to remain. Aremis and Sabriel watch him from the couch, either one of them ready to jump up and go to him if they think it’s needed. It turns out not to be, because he crawls onto Aremis’ lap and lays himself in a way that he’s draped over both of them, his head resting on Aremis’ thighs and his legs curled over Sabriel’s. When he turns to tuck his head against the priest’s stomach, his hot breath sinking through the fabric of Aremis’ shirt to warm the skin beneath, the man feels himself smile lovingly as he starts to stroke through their boy’s hair.

“Are ye feelin’ better now?” he asks gently.

“Aye,” Benny whispers. “’M sorry ‘bout that. ‘M just not… ‘M not used t’ people sayin’ shit like that an’ _meanin’_ it.”

“Oh, little one.” Cupping the back of the boy’s head, he urges him to sit up and look at them. Romiel slips inside with Maverick, leaving the balcony door open to let the sounds and smells of the sea spill into the room. “If we didn’ mean it, we wouldn’t say it.” Those beautiful mismatched eyes stare at him, begging him for something they don’t need to, because he’ll give Benny anything freely, and with so much love attached. His oldest brother steps up to the couch and coaxes their boy to turn his head enough so that he can press a kiss to his lips. The way Benny whines, so softly, makes his heart clench. He wraps his arms around the young man’s waist, steadying him so he won’t fall while Sabriel leans in as well and nuzzles behind Benny’s ear. Aremis himself chooses to place light, barely-there kisses to the crown of their boy’s head or the nape of his neck, cataloging every little twitch or shiver the brothers evoke. He really is very wonderfully responsive.

When he turns his head to kiss Sabriel, and then Aremis, his lips are a little redder, a little fuller, a little wet, and he kisses with a sweet desperation that really isn’t fair. No one pushes for anything further, and he loves the way Benny curls up against his chest; how he tucks his head under Aremis’ jaw and the way he curls his arms against his chest, his hands fisted in the man’s shirt beneath his chin.

“Gotta make breakfast,” he mumbles, sounding like he’s half way to sleep again.

“Later, little one,” Aremis croons, rubbing a hand up and down his back while Sabriel moves to get the map and Romiel checks their gear. Maverick trails after his oldest brother, although he constantly looks to Benny as well. “Once we know where we’re going, we can eat. I’m not that hungry yet, anyway.”

“Okay, alpha.”

Alpha? Blinking, he looks at his brothers. They meet his gaze curiously, just as surprised as he is. “Alpha?”

“Mhm,” Benny hums. He sounds more awake than asleep now, and a bit nervous, like he hadn’t meant for the title to slip out. “’S how my mind works. Pack mentality. Me ‘n’ Maverick, we’re omegas.” He stumbles a little over the last word because he’s yawning. “Knew some betas, but you three’re alphas. My alphas. Ye take care’a me, an’ ye bring me back when I need it. Y’all accept me for me.”

It’s such a broad way to describe the way the brothers love him, but when Aremis thinks about it, it makes perfect sense. Benny did tell them he grew up with dogs and adopted some of their behaviors. They’ve all seen it in the way he and Maverick are together—the way he’d been with Raven and Apache, too. It’s how he is with them as well. Calling them his alphas probably makes perfect sense to Benny, and he cannot deny the little bolt of heat that warmed his belly when their boy said it the way he did, so soft and sleepy and content.

“Yes, little one, we do.” He presses a kiss into Benny’s hair. “Can you get up for me? We need to check the map and see where we’re going. Hey.” He catches Benny’s hand when the boy tries to scramble away too fast, meeting his nervous eyes and smiling. “Thank ye, for acceptin’ us as your alphas. We’ll do everything necessary t’ protect ye, an’ to prove we’re worth it.”

“Ye already have,” Benny promises sweetly, his smile bright enough to rival the sun. Aremis cannot help but kiss him, and the whine he gets for it makes him shudder. When he pulls away, he lets the younger man nuzzle up under his chin and lick at his throat and jaw, briefly remembering a few documentaries he’d watched about wolves where the submissive pack members had done the same thing. He’s seen Benny do this with Maverick, but there was confusion between them, like they weren’t sure who was supposed to be doing it to whom.

“C’mere, little lad,” Sabriel calls softly, and when he opens his arms their boy fits himself against him like he belongs there and does the same thing to him, whining softly low in his throat. Aremis watches the way he wiggles slightly, observing the behavior now that it’s not being done to him and finding it looks perfectly natural. Benny blends humanity with his animalistic tendencies in a way that few others would be able to, finding the perfect balance amongst the two. It’s what makes him so unique, what draws the brothers to him like moths to a flame. If anyone else called Aremis an alpha and tried to lick him, he doubts he’d be as accepting and understanding as he is when their boy does it.

Benny’s submission is so pure, and it comes with no strings attached. There is no hidden agenda; he’s not submitting to them to get out of anything. He’s just as driven as them to survive, and sometimes he seems even more determined to find the perfect place, to hunt down every can he can find, or catch the biggest rabbits he can with Maverick’s help. Sometimes it feels like he’s trying to prove his worth to them, even though there’s no reason for it. They’re not going to abandon him, but does he know that?

Glancing at the young man, he resolves to tell him as much as he needs to. Romiel spreads the map out on the bed and they all lean over it, Benny still tucked safely away in Sabriel’s arms. He has to tilt his head at an angle that doesn’t look at all comfortable, but he doesn’t seem to mind it.

“Could find our way t’ route 15,” he mumbles, frowning slightly in thought. “’S the way mum used to go down when she’d visit my godmother.”

“We need a car,” Aremis decides, frowning at the map and tracing his finger down the route in question. “All of ‘em ‘round here, we should be able t’ find _somethin_ ’ we can use.”

“What else is in Virginia?” Sabriel looks down at Benny, murmuring the words when the boy turns to look up at him. The height difference is something Aremis thinks he will never get tired of, because it’s too precious to see how perfectly Benny can fit against them, laying his cheek on their chests. They have to bend over to kiss him, and it’s so comforting to be able to rest their chins on his head. He seems to enjoy it, too, rather than getting offended.

“Only knew of a few places,” he admits, looking over the map and chewing on his lip until Aremis has to reach over and gently pull it from his teeth. “Williamsburg, and there was a place my mum went called Montpelier. My uncle worked on a hundred-acre cattle farm, but that’s too much open space.”

“Plenty of woods though, aye?” Sabriel asks, and Benny nods.

“Aye. More’n enough to get lost in.”

Looking at the map, Aremis thinks about it, _really_ thinks, and decides that that sounds just fine to him. “Alright then.” He pulls the map closer and starts to fold it up. “Let’s get a car, and get going.”

 

 

 

They find a Ford Flex that’s got enough space for their supplies and the rest of them with some room to spare. Romiel slides into the driver’s seat, and Aremis claims the seat beside him. That leaves Sabriel and Benny to pile in the back seat with Maverick sprawled over them, pressing his nose against the window.

“We still haven’t found you a proper weapon,” he hears Sabriel say musingly, and he glances back to look at Benny. “C’mon, little lad, there has to be a weapon you’re comfortable with.”

Benny looks out the window, his mismatched eyes watching the house melt by as they drive out of Rehobeth. The faint smell of gas from the extra jugs stored in the back will eventually drive one or more of them to open their window, but for now he seems content to stare at the world through the safety of glass.

“Ain’t done much with weapons like that,” he mutters, hunching his shoulders. “Only thing I was ever good at was bows, an’ that’s just impractical.”

“Why?” Aremis finds himself asking, curious to know why the boy thinks being skilled with any weapon would be a bad thing.

“’Cause it wouldn’t do shit in a hoard’a fuckin’ Muddies or whatever else was there. Takes too much time between loosing an arrow an’ notchin’ the next. I’ll stick t’ my knife for now, an’ if something comes along that seems like it could work, I’ll get it.”

“Will you at least let me teach you to shoot?” Sabriel coaxes, leaning close enough to press his face against the back of the younger man’s neck. Benny shivers visibly and leans back into the contact. “Please?” his brother murmurs.

“Gonna waste all yer ammo,” Benny grouses, but he doesn’t say no. Maverick whines and licks at his face, inadvertently shoving Sabriel out of the way with one bony shoulder as he tries to calm his packmate. His brother chuckles and settles back against his seat again, looking triumphant.

Silence settles over all of them, comfortable and relaxing. They leave Delaware behind, heading towards a destination he can only hope will be better. When he glances in the rearview mirror, Benny meets his gaze and then leans forward to rest his head against the back of his set, the sight thump and pressure between his shoulder blades making him smile.

“You can sleep if ye want, little one,” he murmurs. “I may take a nap m’self.” He’s not lying, either. Despite how well they all slept the night before, piled onto the murphy bed and curled into a tangle of limbs, he can feel the ever-present exhaustion weighing on him the way it has been since two weeks after he saw his first Muddy rise. Constantly running and searching for somewhere they’ll feel safe takes a lot out of all of them. He fervently hopes that Virginia ends up having the safety they seek, even if it means living out in the middle of nowhere. They’ll have each other; they don’t need anyone else.

“Not tired,” Benny sighs, sounding like he’s lying through his teeth. When he leans back again, the pressure against his back easing but making Aremis feel a little bereft, he glances back to see the boy laying his head against the window, his eyes already closed. Sure enough, he’s asleep before they go ten more miles, snuffling softly and curling into a position that’s going to leave his neck aching when he wakes up.

“What do ye think?” Sabriel asks, drawing his attention. “Ye think Virginia will have what we’re lookin’ for?”

“I hope so,” Aremis sighs. “For his sake, I hope so.”

Romiel makes a soft noise of agreement, and then they settle into silence again, broken only by the soft sounds of Benny dreaming. Closing his eyes, he lets the sound lull him into a state of semi-conscious contentment, drifting along until it’s time for him to drive.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benny learns to shoot, and a new foe appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A WILD BENNY HAS APPEARED.
> 
> JFC this took way, WAY longer than it should have. x.x It fought me every step of the way, up until the last, like, two pages. I'm so sorry.
> 
> Mind the tags, y'all.

It’s really hard to concentrate on the bottles Romiel has set up for target practice when Sabriel is pressed against his back and guiding his movements. Benny tries, he really does, to pay attention to what the man is saying, but the way he’s gripping the blonde’s wrist, showing him a better angle to hold the gun, is making him think of other ways he could grab and hold him, pinning him down and—

“Have ye listened to a single word I’ve said, lad?”

“Sure, yeah, sight down th’ barrel an’ hold the gun steady. Brace fer th’ recoil.” It may not have been that at all, but he’s trying to act like he’s listening intently even though all he can focus on is the man’s thighs against his ass. God, he’s so short compared to the brothers. It sends a shiver of desire through him, and he watches the gun shake a little.

“Benny, stop.” Sabriel pulls back as he says it and he panics a little, turning quickly and already opening his mouth to apologize. Before he can, his face is grabbed and he’s pulled in closer, a hot mouth against his own making him keen and press into the contact; accepting the tongue licking across the seam of his lips and curling his own against it. He moans and grabs Sabriel’s shirt with his free hand, desperate for something to hold onto until the older man pulls away to watch him pant and rubs a thumb against his lower lip. The drag of the calloused pad against his tender, hypersensitive flesh makes Benny tremble.

“Ye really are so responsive, little lad. Ye’ve no idea what ye do t’ us, have ye?”

“Could say th’ same of ye,” he mutters, trying to duck his head to hide his face and the blush burning brightly on his cheeks. Sabriel isn’t having it, keeping his warm palms against either side of Benny’s jaws and catching his eyes every time he tries to avert them. Whining, he nuzzles into the warmth and pressure, wanting to push closer rather than run away. Once upon a time, he would have. He would have bolted and probably not come back. Things have changed, though, and he knows he’s safe with the brothers.

“Ye needin’ somethin’ then, Benny? Y’know ye can tell us. We’ll not deny ye anythin’.”

They’re out in the middle of Bum Fuck, Nowhere, and they haven’t seen a Muddy or any other kind of undead wandering around for two days. The brothers—more Sabriel, really—had decided it was the perfect opportunity for Benny to learn to shoot. He’s not interested in guns right now, though. He feels restless, and wanting; like there are ants crawling under his skin and he needs to free them before he goes insane. Maverick hasn’t left him alone for a second until now, trying to soothe him in any way he could. What he needs right now, he can’t get from the shepherd mix. The only reason the dog isn’t plastered to his hip right this second is because he’d made him stay back at the camp.

“Benny?”

Whining, he bites his lower lip and watches the way Sabriel’s eyes darken as they drop to watch him knead at the flesh with his teeth. Rather than responding with words, he lowers himself to his knees and nuzzles at a strong thigh wrapped in rough denim, pressing the side of his face against the front of the man’s leg and breathing in tight, fast little huffs through his nose. His eyes flutter shut when sure, clever fingers begin to run through his hair, nails scratching wonderfully against his scalp.

“Please,” he whispers, trying to articulate himself to get across what he needs. The brothers have been so careful with him, tender touches and loving words, but he doesn’t want that right now. He’s craving praise, yes, but he wants to earn it rather than just being showered with it. He wants the kind of domination he knows they can give him, and he’s trying to show that he’s ready for it. That he _needs_ it.

“What’s th’ word, sweet lad?” Sabriel asks, and the man’s voice has dipped to a low rumble that makes goosebumps break out across his skin. He’s still petting Benny, waiting patiently and watching him with dark eyes that still manage to hold unbelievable tenderness. He is not a thing to them, not a toy to be used and discarded when they grow bored. He is their boy, and they are his world in a world where life is no longer a guarantee, and death is not an ending unless it’s delivered a specific way. They help him make sense of everything. They help him keep living—help him _want_ to live. He needs them. He wants them.

“Beltane,” he whispers, trembling from a mixture of anticipation and desire that’s making him too hot, his shirt sticking to his sweaty back and his bangs already damp. He digs his toes into the dirt and grips his own thighs to keep himself from touching without permission.

“What color?”

“Green.”

“Good lad. Can ye take yer shirt off for me, sweetheart? I’d like t’ see ye.”

Benny removes his shirt quickly, dragging the fabric over his head and tossing it somewhere to the left before he goes back to holding his thighs. He’s tempted to just sit on his hands, because the way Sabriel is looking at him is making him want to reach out and worship with touch, but he knows he’s not allowed to unless the offer is made, so he waits and shivers as the warm air caresses his bare skin and makes it twitch.

“We need t’ set some ground rules, don’ we, little lad,” the man muses as he comes closer and begins to circle him. Every once and a while, he’ll reach out and touch—rubbing at the disfigured wing arch on his left shoulder, a physical representation of the damage beneath it; running his fingers through Benny’s messy hair, the tips falling to brush against the nape of his neck and making him bite his lip. When Sabriel sees what he’s doing, he gently works the caught flesh free and rubs it, watching intently as Benny’s eyes flutter closed. He presses into the contact, craving more, and barely remembers that he’s been asked something.

“Aye,” he breathes quickly, not wanting to make it seem like he’s not paying attention, because he is. He’s paying attention to everything.

“I’ll not hurt ye,” Sabriel tells him. It’s not a request, it’s an order. It’s one Benny agrees with wholeheartedly, because that’s never been a part of this for him. He’s quick to nod, mismatched eyes wide and earnest. “That’s not to say we can’ play a little, sweetheart,” he continues, and there’s something warm and possessive in his tone, something that makes the younger man tremble and struggle not to bite his lip again. _Yes,_ he thinks fervently, _yes please._ “Ye’ll be reprimanded when ye misbehave, but we’ll not beat ye. We don’t want that, an’ we know ye don’t, either.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sabe is fine, little lad. I like that much better. Would rather hear a nickname rollin’ off your tongue than a title.” He’s still touching Benny, still petting his hair and his shoulders until he’s no longer trembling, sunk so far into something like subspace that he’s pliant and relaxed, following the man with hazy eyes and moaning quietly and unrestrained when the back of his neck is cupped at squeezed. “That’s it, sweetheart. Look at me. Let me see ye.”

Benny tips his head back obediently, mouth slack, and lets his tongue slip out slightly to drag across his lower lip. He feels drunk, or something approaching high, his skin and mind buzzing but the restless twitching gone. When a finger rests against his lower lip, he whines and curls his tongue against the pad, tasting a little bit of gun oil and grime. “Please, Sabe,” he whispers, the words escaping him on a sigh as he leans forward and nuzzles the inside seam of the man’s pants, closer to his knee than his groin. There’s no need for him to sit on his hands anymore, because he’s perfectly content to rub his cheek against Sabriel’s thigh and wait for direction. A strong, gentle hand runs through his hair, helping him sink further into complacency, and then he’s being guided backwards and his face is being tilted up so he can blink fuzzily at the man. He whines softly in question, licking his lips.

“So fuckin’ perfect, little lad,” he hears, and he warms at the praise. When Sabriel crouches in front of him, he looks to the side and tilts his head slightly to show his throat like a submissive wolf would show deference to their alpha. “Gonna be good for me?”

“Aye,” he promises, his eyelids heavy as he sways closer and lets himself be kissed. It’s so gentle, so loving, but there’s a possessiveness to it as well that makes his breathing pick up again as his mouth is claimed.

“If I ever do somethin’ ye don’ like, or ye feel like yer panicking, ye say yer word or ye give me a color, lad. Understood? Aremis and Romiel will set up their rules with ye as well, but these are mine. Are ye amiable to ‘em?”

“Aye.” He’s rewarded with another kiss, one that makes him whimper quietly and press closer. His hands fall from his thighs, resting at his sides pliantly. Sabriel coaxes his mouth open, coaxes him to responds, and some of the haze clears, clarity and need settling in as he rises to balance on his knees instead of resting on his calves, nuzzling and licking the man’s rough stubble because he really loves how it feels against his tongue.

“Ye can touch me, Benny. Never gonna deny ye that, unless ye be needin’ reprimandin’.”

With permission given, he all-but throws his arms around Sabriel’s neck, pulling himself up as he drags the man down and buries his face underneath his jaw, breathing quickly as he’s swiftly overwhelmed by everything he’s feeling. It’s similar to what he remembers sub-drop being like, only this time there wasn’t a scene or anything that should have triggered it like this, other than Sabriel semi-officially taking him as his boy. Maybe that’s the reason, then, and it’s just a lot more intense this time. He can’t stop shaking, whining and nuzzling and clinging so hard he’s surprised he’s not being pushed away. When large, calming hands start stroking down his back, soothing him from his hyperawareness, his trembling eases but his need doesn’t go anywhere.

“Please, Sabe,” he whimpers.

“It’s all right, little lad. Ye can let it all go. Ye’ve got us now. We’ll take care’a ye.”

Benny starts crying—big, ugly sobs that rip out of his chest and make his throat feel like it’s tearing. They echo through the forest, too loud and too forceful, but he can’t stop. He’s been wound so tightly for so long, been struggling to carry himself along, but now he doesn’t have to. As much as he tried to stay away from people, relying only on himself and his dogs, he was struggling the whole time, because he’s not really a loner, and he’s never been a leader. He’s not a dominant personality, although he does carry a lot of strength in him that shines through in other ways. If he needs to, he can survive on his own—he had, until the brothers came along—but it doesn’t go well. He’s too prone to sinking into that feral state they’d found him in, days away from slipping under completely. If he had, he doesn’t know if he would have let them live. He’d have killed them all in their sleep, because people cannot be trusted.

The brothers can be, though, and he hears Aremis and Romiel approaching quickly, no doubt drawn by the sounds of him breaking apart so they can piece him back together again lovingly, building him up and shaping him into something they believe he deserves to be. He’s given them his submission, and he’s fast on the track to giving them the rest of his love. Both of those things will be cherished as the precious gifts they are, and he fully understands that. With the three of them wrapped around him, comforting him and crooning softly, he feels the tears begin to recede as he calms, ending the breakdown with a last few sniffles against Sabriel’s throat before he lets his face be lifted and kissed, thumbs tenderly wiping away the last of his tears. He’s not sure who it is, but it doesn’t matter, because he trusts all of them.

 

 

 

Romiel strokes his hair, and Benny whines as he presses up into the contact, digging his shoulders into the ground and arching his spine. He’s biting into the side of his hand, vision blurring and his body trembling as Sabriel places kisses across his abdomen. Throwing out his free hand, he reaches for Aremis and shudders when the redhead holds on tightly, rubbing circles into his palm and making soft, soothing noises.

“Please,” he gasps, letting go of his flesh long enough to get it out. “Please.”

“We’ve got ye, little one,” the priest whispers, his voice so full of emotion. “What color, Benny?”

“Green,” he sobs, writhing and clenching his thighs around Sabriel’s waist, trying to pull him closer. A quick nip is all the rebuff he needs, and he takes a deep breath that shakes horribly as he eases himself back down. “Green, green, ‘s green.”

Sabriel sucks at his hip, fingers dancing down his naked sides. “That’s a good lad,” he croons when he reaches the waistband of Benny’s shorts. One hand drops to curl around his knee, grounding him, and his next breath comes out a little easier when he feels the button being undone. “Nothin’ ye don’ want, little lad. Remember that.”

“Green,” Benny promises, letting his legs fall open a little wider and turning to press his face against the side of Romiel’s thigh. He can smell his musk, feel the heat rolling off his groin. It makes his mouth water, but all he does is keen softly and try to be patient, because he wants to be deserving of the praise he’s rewarded with, and that means waiting.

Sabriel’s mouth is hot, his hands sure. He’s an expert at this, his craft honed through less-than-desirable means, but he takes Benny apart with wet sucks and slow bobs of his head. Every time his cock hits the back of the man’s throat, he jolts like he’s been stung, whining desperately at the feeling of the muscles tightening and fluttering around him.

Digging his heels into the ground, he bites down on his hand again and almost draws blood when a finger brushes gently against his entrance, pushing curiously but not forcing its way in. They can’t do that, not right now. None of them have anything approaching lubrication that is safe to use, and he doesn’t quite think he’s ready for that step yet. He needs _something_ , but being taken in the middle of the woods is not it. He’d thought it might be, but he was proven wrong—that happens quite frequently with him. For now, he holds Aremis’ hand until it hurts, mouths at Romiel’s thigh until the denim is hot and wet, and comes with a shudder, feeling Sabriel swallowing it all around him.

He floats along afterwards, warm and safe even though his body is trembling. They take care of him, bringing him back with light, leading touches and letting him sip at water until he feels better. Maverick slinks in as soon as he’s welcome to, whining and curling up against his side. He rolls and buries his face into the dog’s fur, breathing in his scent and humming happily. When someone helps him to sit up, he lets them, taking his shirt back slowly and tugging it on before the cool air gives him a chill.

“Feel better, little one?” Aremis asks, his voice low because of his proximity to Benny’s ear. He nods, smiling and feeling so much better as he slowly comes out of the place he’s sunken into, turning and curling up against Romiel’s chest.

 _We love you, Benny,_ the silent man taps against his skin, and he’s so pleased that he’s picking up the unique brand of Morse Code and ASL Romiel uses to communicate. He doesn’t even always have to look anymore, just needs to concentrate on the way the fingers move or tap against his arm. The other hand lifts to press a piece of meat against his mouth, which he accepts. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the scent of cooked rabbit reached him, and now he’s eating each little bite ravenously, licking the man’s fingers clean of the juices and nosing at them for more. They must have grabbed it and brought it with them when they’d heard him crying.

“C’mon, little lad. Let’s get ye back t’ camp.”

“Can get up myself,” he murmurs when a hand extends toward him. After one last nuzzle, he climbs off of Romiel’s lap and stands, feeling blood flowing to his legs swiftly and making his skin prickle and burn. His first step is shaky, but soon enough he’s loping along with Maverick beside him, grinning and nudging at the shepherd mix until they romp back into camp in a tangle of limbs and sprawl across the sleeping bags. The brothers follow at a slower pace, chuckling at their antics. They settle around the boy and his dog, petting both of them, and Benny hums happily as his eyelids grow heavy and he sinks down toward the dark beauty of his dreams.

“Tomorrow, lad, ye’re learnin’ t’ shoot,” Sabriel warns him. “I don’ care if it takes all day. ‘S happenin’.”

“Kay,” he mumbles, barely conscious anymore. The last thing he hears is a fond chuckle, the last feeling one of lips pressing to his hair before he’s fast asleep.

 

 

 

Benny shoots the tree beside the bottle, cursing a blue streak in his mind and glaring at the gun when he brings it back down from where the recoil sent it and his arms above his head. “Fuckin’ Christ. This is fuckin’ ridiculous,” he bitches, turning to glare at Sabriel. The man is grinning and trying his hardest not to, his blue-green eyes twinkling. “Shut it,” he grumbles, gesturing with his middle finger of the hand not currently holding the gun. “Why the fuck’s this so hard?”

“’Cause yer makin’ it that way. Yer too tense. Yer anticipating too quickly, an’ that’s why ye can’ hit th’ target. C’mon, try again.”

“’S fuckin’ pointless,” Benny grumbles, but he raises the gun again and takes aim. He tries to relax himself, tries not to jerk too much. He’s just not at all comfortable with the weapon he’s holding, treating it more like it’s a poisonous snake than a possible key to his survival. When he feels Sabriel step up behind him, he lets the man position him, moving him how he needs to; drawing comfort from his presence and sighing out easier with his next breath.

The bullet clips the ground beside the bottle.

“Better! Try again.”

It takes nearly a full clip before Benny hits the bottle, and the amount of pride he feels for his accomplishment is kind of stupid and pointless, considering he’s buried the rest of the bullets in trees and dirt. Sabriel whoops like he got it on his first try, though, grabbing him and pulling him in for a bruising kiss that makes his knees weak.

“Again,” the man whispers, pulling back and turning him around. Benny takes a deep breath, tries to settle his nerves, and takes aim before squeezing the trigger.

The bottle explodes.

“Fuck yes! Tha’s m’ boy!”

Strong arms wrap around him and lift him up. He can’t help but laugh, because Sabriel’s joy is infectious.

“Told ye it could be done, little lad.” Hands cup his face, leading him into a sweet kiss, and Benny sighs happily as he nuzzles closer for more. When they separate, he watches Sabriel expertly eject the empty clip from the gun and slide in a full one, his movements slower than they would normally be so that he can see everything and learn. Then it’s his turn, and he fumbles a little bit but manages well enough, beaming when he manages it after the third time.

“C’mon, lad. Let’s get back t’ th’ others. We should probably move out now that ye’re getting’ th’ hang of th’ gun. We can practice more on th’ way. Maybe ye can convince Aremis t’ give it a try, too.”

They walk side-by-side, one of the man’s arms around his shoulders to keep him close. Their companions look up from the smoldering fire, beaming when they see them approaching. Maverick barks and bowls into him, nearly knocking him back. Laughing, he crouches and lets the mutt lick his face while he rubs the soft, warm ears. “Hey, boy,” he croons. “Aye, I’m back. Tol’ ya I would be. Never believe me, do ye.”

A bark is his answer, and he’s laughing again when a roar sends all of them scrambling. Eyes wide, he whips around and draws his knife, listening as Maverick’s bark turns aggressive, a snarl ripping from the dog’s throat and his hackles bristling.

“Th’ fuck was that?” Sabriel hisses as they all stand with their backs to each other, looking in every possible direction. Benny feels the tension in the brothers, and knows he’s just as wound up, his mismatched eyes straining to pick out the danger. Another roar makes him swallow, fear and determination warring inside of him. When Romiel draws in a quick, sharp breath, he whips his head around to see what has caused that reaction, and he feels his blood turn to ice and his heart stop.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he rasps, because the biggest fucking monster he’s ever seen in his life is lumbering toward them like a tank. It’s an undead unlike anything he’s ever seen before. It’s not a slim, sleek Speeder, and it’s not a stumbling, moaning Muddy. This thing’s veins are red, its body disfigure—like whoever it had once been had taken too many steroids too fast. Its muscles are overdeveloped and bulging, it’s mouth a gaping slash and it’s eyes the same red as its veins. When it sights them, it roars a third time, loudly enough to shake the trees and make the ground beneath them tremble.

“Fuckin’ shit, must’ve heard th’ gunshots.” Sabriel’s words make him look over, wide-eyed and more terrified than anything else now. If him learning to shoot has brought that thing, then what if there are more around?

“The fuck’re we supposed t’ do?” he whimpers, clenching his knife tighter and rocking up onto the balls of his feet as he settles into a fighting stance. They have one gun, and four knives. He doubts any of their blades will do any kind of good here, which just leaves the gun, but that thing looks like it’s going to be a lot harder to take down than anything else they’ve faced before. “How th’ fuck’re we supposed t’ kill _that_?”

Maverick lunges forward, howling, and Benny shouts as he tries to grab the shepherd mix and pull him back. He just barely misses, grazing the bristling fur at the base of the canine’s tail. “Maverick, no!”

Aremis grabs him, trying to hold him back, but he’s not about to let the dog die, not if he can try to do something to stop it. He wriggles free, not even looking back at the triplets as he runs after Maverick. The thing is coming closer, each heavy footstep slamming into the earth and making it quake. He stumbles, catching his shoulder against the trunk of a tree and wincing, but then he’s righting himself and plowing forward, bringing up his knife and snarling as he buries the blade into the thing’s side.

It smacks him away like he’s nothing, bellowing its outrage. Pain explodes through his shoulders when he hits another tree, and he yelps as he crumples to the ground and scrambles to grab his knife and get up again before it can reach him. Aremis and Romiel appear then, each of them taking a side and trying to reach the monster’s neck. Sabriel is shooting at it, each retort of the gun followed by the sound of the bullet impacting. Nothing is slowing this thing down, though, and he’s certain that today is the day they’re all going to die horribly.

Hauling himself to his feet, Benny tries to ignore the pain, gritting his teeth and seeing red creeping across his vision, the dark fury he tries his best to keep bottled up and shoved away roaring to the surface. He tastes blood in his mouth and licks across the cut, using that pain to fuel his rage. The brothers must see it, or sense it, because Romiel reaches out to try and touch him, trying to soothe him, but he refuses to let him. Howling, he lunges forward at the same time Maverick does, letting the shepherd mix distract the creature long enough for him to jump and cling to an arm as thick as an oak trunk. With all of the overdeveloped dips and bulges of muscle, it’s easy for him to crawl up onto a broad shoulder and dodge the mouth that snaps at him with wicked, rotting teeth. Bringing up his knife, he plunges it into the monster’s ear at the same time that Sabriel fires three perfect headshots, and maybe it’s that combination, or the knife in its brain, or hell, maybe Sabriel just shot at the exact right spot, but the thing falls mid-stride and throws him. He skids across the ground, gritting his teeth against the sharp twigs and rocks that cut into his skin.

“Benny!”

Maverick is whining and licking at his face, nosing at his cheeks and under his left shoulder to try and get him to sit up. He’s panting, blood trickling from the side of his mouth and his entire body feeling like someone has taken a sledgehammer to it. When Aremis’ concerned eyes block out the sunlight, strands of his wavy hair falling free to frame Benny’s face, he whines and closes his eyes.

“’S dead?”

“Yes, little one, it’s dead. God, don’ ye ever do somethin’ that foolish again. Thought ye were dead, Benny. Thought it’d kill ye fer sure.”

“Didn’t,” he grunts, trying to laugh and whimpering pitifully instead as his lungs burn. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t punctured one of them, although he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s broken several ribs and maybe another bone or two, after being thrown into so many things in such a short amount of time.

“C’mon, lad. I think it’s past time for us t’ leave this place.” Sabriel helps him up, trying so hard to be careful, but every jostle and bump makes him grit his teeth and try not to cry out. His fury is receding, returning to the cage he always locks it in. At least this time he kept most of his mind, but the downside is that now all of the hurts he didn’t feel then are making themselves known. In the end, he has to resign himself to being carried, cradled in Sabriel’s arms with his head resting against the man’s collarbone as he tries not to cry.

Once they’re back at camp, Sabriel doesn’t let him go. He heads for the car, propping him up in the backseat and brushing his bangs back from his face. “Gotta check ye, little lad. ‘S gonna hurt.” He looks like he wants to do anything but that, but they don’t have a choice, really. Benny gives a tight nod, his eyes squeezed shut tightly. “Gonna have t’ cut yer shirt off. Ain’t riskin’ movin’ ye too much t’ get it off properly.”

He nods again, biting back a whimper, and feels as the knife slices through the front of his shirt, cool air brushing against his skin. Cracking an eye open, he glances down and sees the mottled colors already spreading across his chest. When Sabriel gently presses over his ribs, checking to see the extent of the damage, he grits his teeth and whines thinly so he doesn’t end up shouting and bringing anything else down on them.

“Couple of ‘em are broken, an’ a few maybe cracked. Gonna need t’ wrap ye. Yer gonna be hurtin’ for a while. Next town we pass through, we’ll try t’ find ye some stronger painkillers.”

Benny accepts the pills he’s given, sipping at some water so he doesn’t have to swallow them dry. When gentle hands coax him into leaning forward, he grips the edge of the seat and tries to keep his breathing slow and steady. They can’t afford to waste so much gauze binding his ribs, so he listens as Sabriel cuts up several shirts and uses them instead. The fabric would probably feel nice in any other circumstance, but right now it’s anything but as it’s wrapped tightly around his chest and tied in place. By the end of it, he’s pale and shaking, sweat glistening on his exposed skin and his breathing sharp and pained.

“Easy, little one. We’ve got ye,” Aremis murmurs. He crawls in through the other rear passenger door, settling beside him and letting him slump against his side. Romiel takes the front passenger seat, Maverick on his lap facing the wrong way so he can look at Benny and whine. Reaching out slowly and carefully, he strokes the mutt’s muzzle and manages to smile when his fingers are nuzzled and licked.

Sabriel shuts the door very carefully behind himself after he’s slid into the driver’s seat, like he’s afraid too much force will shatter the rest of Benny’s ribs. He glances back quickly, and smiles when a weak one is given to him.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he tells the man, arching an eyebrow and managing to inject a little sass into his words. “Gonna take more’n a fucker like that ta do me in.”

“The fuck was that thing, anyway?” Starting the car, the older man turns away to focus on where he’s going. “Nothin’ seemed to work against it, ‘til the end.”

“Was like it was in a berserker rage,” Benny agrees quietly, leaning against Aremis a bit more heavily and feeling the Scotsman brace willingly to accept his weight. Turning his head slightly, he nuzzles into the crook between his arm and his side, sighing. “Seems more apt than anythin’ else we could call it. Berserker.”

“Hope we never run into one’a them again,” Aremis says, bringing his free hand across his body to stroke Benny’s hair. It feels really good, and he relaxes a bit more with a sigh, his eyes fluttering closed as he rests. Sleep is probably going to be impossible without any stronger painkillers, but for now he’s as comfortable as he’s going to be. It could be worse—he could be fucking dead. He’ll take some broken and cracked ribs over that alternative.

“Try’n sleep at least a bit, little one,” the redheaded man whispers against his forehead. He’s nuzzled, the delicious scrape of the other man’s beard against his skin making him shiver slightly. The noise he makes is quiet and agreeing, even though he doubts it will happen. He tries, though, breathing carefully and feeling the steady rise and fall of Aremis’ chest against his cheek.

Sleep sneaks up on him, taking him away from the pain for a while before he’s even realized it has found him. At least his dreams are nice.


End file.
